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

by Michael Fowler

  “Perfect choice,” said Beth and asked them to pass on her thanks to the woman.

  “Right, shall we go down to the bay, then?” said Ray, putting his empty cup in the sink and wringing his hands excitedly. “You’ll love the place. To be honest, I haven’t found a bad bay on this island. Just you wait till we show you around Little Sark and the view across to Brecqhou, where the Barclay Brothers live. And I guarantee you’ll love the stacks at Port du Moulin. They’d make a great painting.”

  Packing spare T-shirts, jeans and trainers for Jonathan and Daniel, Beth handed Hunter the knapsack and they all set off for Dixcart Bay. The first part of the troupe’s journey was along the path Hunter and his family had taken the previous night, but once out of the woods, instead of taking the hill climb they took the steady sloping path direct to the bay. As they got to the end of the straight, Hunter saw it was exactly how he’d thought yesterday — the path branched off downhill, where there was a concrete stairway to the beach. At the top of the steps, Hunter stopped and looked across the bay. It was horseshoe-shaped with a sand and stone beach encased by steep cliffs. The cliff-face to the right had a natural arch, and Hunter could just see that there was another bay through the gap. Except for themselves, the place was deserted.

  Jonathan and Daniel pushing past him brought back Hunter’s attention. He watched his sons skip down the narrow steps, holding onto the metal handrail so they didn’t fall. They had reached the sloping beach before any of the adults took a step down. By the time Hunter made it to the bottom, holding Beth’s hand tightly, Jonathan and Daniel were by the shoreline, skimming stones into the gently lapping waves.

  Putting an arm around Beth, pulling her close enough to get a delicate whiff of her perfume, Hunter felt the best he had been in a long while. For once his head was not full of work, and although Billy Wallace was floating in and out of his thoughts, he wasn’t troubled. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his mum and dad drift away with Beth’s parents, chatting and strolling steadily, and he gave Beth a squeeze and set off after them. “Feeling better?”

  Beth dragged her eyes away from the boys and met his gaze. She leaned her head in closer, brushing his neck and shoulder. “I am now.”

  “I got up in the middle of the night. I couldn’t sleep. I went downstairs to get a drink and Dad was there. We had a chat. He’s genuinely sorry about all this, you know.”

  “I know he is. I shouldn’t be blaming him. I was just pretty pissed off with being uprooted like we were. Coming here has more than made up for it. The boys are pretty happy, and it’s great to see Mum and Dad again.”

  “They seem happy.”

  “They are. This was always one of their favourite holiday places. You know how long they’ve talked about living here when they retired.”

  “And the good thing is they’re still young and fit enough to enjoy it.”

  “I’m hoping it’s the same for us when it’s our time.”

  “Stop wishing our lives away, Beth Kerr.” Hunter gave her a squeeze and she giggled. As she stopped, Hunter suddenly became aware of the lack of noise. Specifically, the lack of shouting from Jonathan and Daniel, and he turned his head towards where he had last seen them, but found himself staring at the open sea. He whipped his head in all directions. All he saw were their parents strolling in front of them. Jonathan and Daniel were not with them and nowhere to be seen. He felt his heartrate increase. “Where are Jonathan and Daniel?” He tried to prevent the note of concern from creeping into his voice, but failed.

  Beth was following his gaze around the bay, and Hunter could see the frantic look on her face. “Where are they?” she said.

  Hunter returned his look to the sea, just in case they had gone into the water, but the only activity he could see was the gentle roll of a small wave. Without warning, their faces flashed inside his head and a darkness he had never experienced before suddenly shadowed him, making him feel sick. Jonathan, Daniel, where are you? Hunter was about to bomb back up the stairway, retracing his steps, to see if they had made their way back up the cliff, when he thought he caught the sound of Daniel’s voice somewhere to his right. He quickly looked at Beth. He could tell from her expression that she had also heard their son’s voice.

  Hunter shot a look in the direction the noise had come from. There it was again. This time, it was followed by a whoop of delight. He couldn’t see Daniel, yet it seemed to be coming from the rocks, and then he remembered the natural arch he had seen when he’d first stepped onto the beach. He set off at a sprint, with Beth following. The sand made it hard going, and within seconds he was clawing for air. Taking a deep breath, he took the edge off his pace as the rock face opened up, giving him a view of the arch. Now he could hear Daniel’s cries a lot more clearly. He jogged through the gap and found himself in another horseshoe-shaped bay, this one slightly smaller and filled with rocks and boulders, where he saw both Jonathan and Daniel, their backs to him, bending down, scooping something out of the sand.

  Daniel was nearest, calling excitedly, “Got one.”

  Hunter’s heart instantly lifted, but at the same time he became overwhelmed by irritation and frustration, and he dashed towards them, yelling, “What the hell do you think the pair of you are doing?”

  Both boys turned sharply and looked up.

  Hunter grabbed Daniel by his arm, giving him a shake. “What on earth do you think you are doing, coming through here without telling us?”

  Daniel shrank away, his face taking on a frightened look, eyes starting to water.

  Beth took a hold of his wrist, and Hunter relaxed his grip and stopped shaking Daniel.

  Glancing quickly at Beth, he returned his focus to Daniel, softening his voice. “You scared the life out us. We didn’t know where you’d gone.”

  “I’m sorry; that was my fault.”

  The female voice took Hunter completely by surprise. He spun sideways, setting his eyes upon a slim, sixty-something, white-haired lady, wearing a light grey fleece and jeans, appearing from behind one of the boulders. He immediately recognised her from the ferry crossing.

  She came towards them. “I spotted your boys playing through the arch, and they saw me. They asked me what I was doing, and I told them I was collecting shells and they asked me if they could help. I saw you strolling on the beach and didn’t think you would mind. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to cause you concern.”

  Hunter noted that the lady’s soft, throaty voice had a slight North-East accent. Not quite Geordie.

  Beth squeezed Hunter’s wrist. “You need to apologise. You scared them,” she said softly.

  Beth’s comment hurt him. It felt like a rebuke. His heart had still not slowed — it was beating ten-to-the-dozen. He swallowed hard, wrapped his arm around Daniel and met the woman’s eyes. “I’m sorry, but I thought something had happened to them. One minute they were playing on the beach, and the next they were gone. I didn’t see them disappear.”

  “That’s understandable,” the woman replied. “I haven’t got any children myself, but I’ve taught enough in my time to know the concerns of parents. I should have shouted and let you know they were with me, but they just came through and we started looking for shells together.”

  “You’re a teacher?” asked Beth.

  “Used to be. Been retired almost ten years.”

  “You’re not local, though?” said Hunter.

  She shook her head. “Oh no.”

  “I didn’t think so. I noticed your accent. North East?”

  “Very perceptive. Bulmer. Little village on the east coast. Not far from Holy Island. You might have heard of it.”

  Both Hunter and Beth and shook their heads.

  “I don’t live there now. I moved when I got my last teaching job.”

  “You’re here on holiday? Or do you live here?” asked Beth.

  “No. I’m here for the Festival. It’s always been on my bucket list. I’ve got a friend coming to join me for it. I’ve rented a cottage back t
here in the woods.”

  Hunter nodded, recalling the cottages they had passed to get to the bay.

  The lady said, “Are you on holiday?”

  “I’ve come to see my parents,” Beth replied. “They’re staying here on the island.”

  Hunter admired how quickly Beth had responded without needing to lie.

  “They are lucky. It’s a beautiful island. Where else can you find somewhere like this in this day and age?”

  Hunter and Beth nodded.

  “So, are you here for the festival as well?”

  Beth replied, “Yes, we can’t wait. It sounds wonderful.”

  “It is. Or so I’ve been told. For now, I’m just exploring the island. I thought I’d got the bay to myself until I heard your charming boys here.”

  Hunter caught the twinkle in her vivid blue-grey eyes and suddenly felt guilty. “I bet you think I’m a right father, going off like that.”

  She laughed. “Not at all. When you’ve dealt with as many parents as I have, I can understand your concerns. It should be me apologising.” She paused and added, “I’m Hazel, by the way.”

  “Hunter.”

  “Beth.”

  “Well, I’m very pleased to meet you both, and now I’ve collected enough shells, I’ll leave you in peace.” She held up a carrier bag that was a quarter full, turned and began walking away. After a few yards, she called back over her shoulder, “I’m sure we’ll be seeing one another again.”

  Hunter watched her climb the steps and then turned to face Beth. “I didn’t mean to react like that.”

  Beth shook her head and with a straight face said, “That lady’ll be reporting you to Social Services.” A couple of seconds later, her face broke into a grin. “I know you didn’t. I panicked as well there for a moment. I hope for all our sakes they catch this Billy Wallace guy soon, and then we can all relax again. My nerves can’t take any more of this.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Hunter awoke from yet another nightmare. In this one, Jonathan and Daniel had been abducted by Billy Wallace. He was lathered in sweat and the duvet was damp around him, making him shiver. The room was in darkness, and he rolled over and tapped his phone on the bedside table. The screen lit up, informing him it was 03.41. Stupid o’clock again. Letting out a frustrated sigh, he slipped out of bed and made his way to the bathroom. Washing his face, he knew he wouldn’t be getting back to sleep anytime soon, so he decided to go downstairs, make a drink of warm milk and scour the bookshelves for something to occupy his mind.

  He had always suffered an irregular sleep pattern; usually it was aspects of the job that kept him tossing and turning. Now, though, it was something far more serious that was troubling his thoughts. The recent encounters were playing out like a horror movie inside his head. Reading had always been a way he had been able to spark his imagination away from the day’s disturbance, tiring his brain and taking him to a point of sleep, and he was hoping the same would happen tonight.

  Tiptoeing downstairs, avoiding the second from bottom step which creaked, Hunter sauntered into the kitchen, where he poured milk into a mug and put it in the microwave. Setting the timer, he made his way to the lounge, switched on the light and began searching the bookcase in the alcove next to the fireplace. There was a wide variety of books — crime and thrillers, romance, and historical fiction, as well as a couple of celebrity biographies. He spotted a Peter Robinson title he’d not read before and he picked it out. Robinson was one of his favourite authors, and it especially helped that he was familiar with many of the Yorkshire settings. He tucked the book under his arm, collected his hot milk from the microwave and went to sit in the conservatory. The light from the lounge strayed far enough inside to allow him to read, and he set down his steaming mug on the tiled floor, stretched out on the sofa, and opened the book.

  Hunter read for just over an hour, after which he could feel his eyes beginning to droop; as ever, reading had been his saviour. Walking back into the lounge, he switched off the light and stayed there for a moment, looking into the conservatory. Initially, all he saw was a wall of blackness, but as his vision adjusted he caught sight of the sky. The stars were so bright. They looked like sparkling jewels against black velvet. Hunter stepped inside the conservatory for a better view, and for a few minutes he stood rooted to the spot, entertaining himself with the majestic spectacle of the heavens. He had seen it mentioned in one of the information leaflets that Sark was one of the world’s first Dark Skies Islands, and here he was experiencing it.

  He had just dropped his gaze to the tree line at the bottom of the garden and was about to turn away when he thought he caught a movement. He flinched, and the hairs on the back of his neck bristled. Intensifying his focus on where he thought he had seen something, he held his breath. Within a few seconds, he caught the movement again. It was fleeting, and although he couldn’t make out any shape he saw that there was definitely something shuffling among the trees. Someone was watching him. He slowly let out the breath he was holding, remaining motionless. He stayed like that for the best part of a couple of minutes, scouring the mass of trees, but nothing further happened — whoever, or whatever, was there had gone.

  In that moment, for some reason an image of the Gruffalo, a story Hunter had read many times to his sons in the past, appeared in his mind’s eye, and he chuckled to himself. Now he knew his imagination was running riot. After all, the island must be full of wildlife. It could have quite easily have been a fox. Despite telling himself You’re losing the plot, he remained rooted to the spot for a few more minutes, staring out over the garden. Seeing nothing further, he cursed himself for allowing his mind to stray and made his way back upstairs.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  When Hunter got up the next morning, he found his mum and dad having breakfast in the conservatory. He made a pot of tea, took a cup up to Beth, who was still half-asleep, and then returned downstairs. Jock had stepped out of the conservatory and was in the garden, and Hunter joined him. There was a noticeable chill this morning, and Hunter hugged his mug close to his chest, warming himself. He stood next to his dad in silence, looking out over the garden. Suddenly, a black cat appeared from the treeline and stopped and stared at them for several seconds, before sloping back into the woods. Hunter let out a short laugh, followed by the words, “Bloody cat.”

  “Why do you say that?” his dad returned, looking sideways at him.

  “I got up in the middle of the night again, couldn’t sleep, made myself a drink and read a bit. I was just standing here before going back to bed and thought I’d seen something moving in the trees, and you can guess what I was thinking.”

  “Billy Wallace,” Jock answered on a low note, glancing over his shoulder to where Fiona was.

  “Exactly, and all along it was a bloody cat.”

  They both let out a short laugh.

  Jock placed a hand on Hunter’s shoulder and on a low note said, “Hopefully your lot will catch him soon, and then we can all get back to normal.” Giving him a quick squeeze, Jock finished the last of his tea and returned to the conservatory.

  Hunter stayed, scoping the trees to see if the cat would make an appearance again.

  Following breakfast, they all slipped on jackets, locked up the cottage, and made their way to The Avenue, where they had arranged to meet up with Beth’s parents. When they got there, Ray and Sandra were standing beside a horse-drawn carriage and its driver. They were introduced to Phil and his horse Paddy and told they were going on a tour of the island. Jonathan and Daniel gave a whoop of delight and jumped up onto the back, while the driver helped everyone else to board.

  Checking everyone was comfortable, Phil clicked his tongue and the horse set off at a gentle clop along the village avenue until they reached the Post Office, where the driver steered right, telling them that they were heading up to the far north of the island first, before doubling back towards Little Sark.

  The sun made an appearance, but it was behind a haze of
wispy grey cloud, providing a milky light that once again reminded Hunter of Cornwall, and although not as warm as the last couple of days, the temperature was pleasant. As they ambled along, Phil began to tell them a little of the island, pointing out things relevant to his well-versed tour as they went. It took them half an hour to reach a place Phil announced as ‘Les Fontaines’, where the uneven road came to an abrupt end at a gated entrance and a dirt track began the other side.

  “You can get off here if you want and check out the view, but it’s a fair distance to the end of the headland. It’ll probably take you a good quarter of an hour to walk it, and I’m afraid I don’t have time to hang around. I can tell you that it’s worth coming back here and visiting the carved Buddha stone at the end.”

  “That sounds interesting, what’s that?” asked Fiona.

  “A Tibetan Buddhist monk and his friend came here in nineteen-ninety-nine and carved a large rock with Buddhist blessings to mark the millennium. They started off using a hammer and chisel, but hadn’t counted on the granite being so tough, and they ended up using a small pneumatic drill,” Phil laughed.

  The group decided not to get off, agreeing among themselves to return tomorrow on a walk, and Phil clicked his tongue again and the horse jolted forward and began retracing its journey.

  On this part of the journey, they caught up with three other horse-driven carriages that were full of tourists, and they also passed a number of individuals and groups. Hunter was surprised at the numbers strolling around, especially given how small and remote the island was.