“Oh, okay.” Jonathan pulled away his eyes and dropped silent. A few seconds later, he said, “I’m glad about that. I wouldn’t like anything bad to happen to Granddad.”
“Neither would I,” answered Hunter. “It won’t.” Putting his hand on Jonathan’s shoulder, he was determined to bring this line of talk to an end. “And now, young man, let’s go and see what both Nannans and Granddads are up to. I think Grandad Ray and Nannan Sandra are off home soon. You and Daniel are having tea with them and staying over at their place tonight. Me and your mum are going out for a meal, and Granddad Jock and Nannan Fiona are having a night of peace and quiet.”
After packing off Jonathan and Daniel for the night with Beth’s parents, Hunter put in a call to the family-run, four-star Stocks Hotel, which he had seen great reviews about, and reserved a table for Beth and himself. Then he showered, had a wet-shave, and selected a white Oxford shirt, with his dark-wash Levi’s and tan brogues. Taking time with her make-up, Beth piled up her hair and chose a black and white A-line dress with flat black shoes.
At just after 7 o’clock that evening, Hunter and Beth set off from the cottage, leaving Fiona and Jock watching television, sharing a bottle of wine. As he made his way down the path to the gate, Hunter’s head was still swilling around thoughts of the stranger in the Bel Air and Jonathan’s earlier comments, and he was hoping against hope that by the time he sat down for his meal, his head would have emptied out its problems so he could enjoy himself.
Their route was along The Avenue, through the village, and as they strolled, Beth grabbed Hunter’s hand and told him how much she had enjoyed their day together, that it seemed ages since just the two of them had done something and how much she was looking forward to the meal. Hunter immediately engaged with the conversation, echoing Beth’s thoughts, and by the time they stepped onto the cart-track, signposting their way to the hotel, his thoughts had drifted away from the worry that had been taxing his brain to which beer he would have before his food. That light chat was just what he needed, and as they stepped through the reception door, Hunter squeezed Beth’s hand and kissed her cheek.
“What’s that for?” she asked, smiling.
“For just being you.”
Beth returned the squeeze of his hand. “You can be so romantic sometimes, Hunter Kerr.”
“Only sometimes?”
She let go of his hand and bumped his shoulder. “You know what I mean.”
They followed the passage to the Smugglers Bar, entering a soft-lit, cosy bar, furnished with tub-chairs, low-tables and a leather two-seater sofa. The room had a low ceiling, whitewashed walls and dark wooden beams. The name suited the area. There were only two customers — a man and woman, who looked to be in their mid-forties. They were seated on high chairs at the bar, chatting with a young-looking barman. They all turned as he and Beth entered, and each of them offered up a welcoming smile, and yet Hunter found himself eyeing them suspiciously. His thoughts had returned to that afternoon, and he cursed himself.
“Have you booked a table?” the barman asked, sliding towards them.
Hunter caught his Scottish accent, replied that they had, gave his surname and said, “Whereabouts in Scotland are you from?”
“Musselburgh, near Edinburgh.”
“I know Edinburgh. Been there a few times.”
“Oh aye?”
Hunter nodded. He was about to say his parents were from Glasgow, when he decided it wouldn’t be wise. Instead, he said, “Been to the Tattoo a couple of times. What are you doing so far south?”
The barman let out a light laugh. “Finished uni in May. Doing a bit of seasonal work in-between sightseeing before I start a proper job. Going on to France after Christmas, when this place closes for winter.”
“Sounds good.”
“Aye, it is.” Pausing, the barman continued, “Can I get you a drink?”
Hunter asked if they had any local beers, and the barman told him they had. He offered him three types, and Hunter chose the IPA and ordered a large glass of Chardonnay for Beth.
“If you’d like to take a seat, I’ll bring you over your drinks and the menus.”
Hunter targeted the two-seater sofa against the far corner — it looked well-used and comfortable — and made a beeline for it. Slipping off her coat, Beth settled into the sofa, setting her handbag down on the coffee table. Hunter joined her, sinking down into the cushions.
“This is lovely,” Beth said, running her eyes around the room. “I’m glad we did this.”
“So am I,” Hunter replied, watching her glistening blue eyes scope the plush surroundings.
The approaching barman grabbed back their attention. He set down their drinks and slipped out two menus from under his arm, as well as a drinks list. “We have a set menu and also à la carte tonight. Just let me know when you’re ready to order,” he said, and returned back to the bar.
Hunter picked up his beer. It had the perfect head and was chilled. He took a long hit, savouring its hoppy taste. He could already feel a calm descending and decided he was going to have another before the meal. After another long swallow, he set down his glass and picked up the menus, opening them up and leaning in to Beth. He saw that she had taken a good drink of her wine.
As she set the glass down on the table, she said, “God, I needed that.”
They scoured both menus. Both looked very appetising, but Hunter saw that on the à la carte selection, moules marinière was available as a starter. It was one of his favourites, and he underlined it with his finger, locking eyes with Beth. It was one of her favourites as well. Her eyes lit up and she nodded. Hunter also saw that 21-day matured sirloin steak was on the menu and instantly made up his mind as to what he was going to order. “That was easy. I’ve chosen,” he said, handing over the menus to Beth. He picked up the wine list. “Red or white?”
“What are you having to eat?”
“The mussels and sirloin.”
She gave the menus another quick look, and folding them, responded, “I’ll have the same. Shall we order a red with the steak?”
“Sounds like a good plan.”
They finished their drinks at the same time, and the barman returned to ask them if they wanted another and if they had selected their order. They ordered the same round of drinks and gave the barman their menu and wine selection, both stating they wanted the steak cooked medium. As he walked back to the bar, Hunter saw, over his shoulder, another couple coming into the room, and after a steady up-and-down glance, he told himself they weren’t a threat and returned his attention to Beth.
Halfway through his second drink, Hunter became aware of someone standing before him and looked up. It was a young lady wearing a black knee-length dress and white apron, and he realised she was the waitress. She told them their table was ready and asked if they would like to follow her. He also noticed that there was now a dozen or so people dotted around the room. He had been so wrapped up in his conversation with Beth he hadn’t spotted any of them arriving. He instantly told himself that had to be a good thing, and as he rose from the sofa he could feel his mood lifting.
The restaurant was up a flight of stairs, in a large wood-panelled room, its windows covered by heavy drapes and its furnishings Victorian — all very tasteful and keeping in with the hotel. There were fifteen tables, all laid for fine dining, and every one of them had been placed far enough apart so as not to overshadow the next diner. Five of the tables were taken, all by couples. Beth gave Hunter a quick happy look as they were shown to their table. He knew what she was thinking — this was perfect. The mussels in white wine, onion, garlic and fresh cream, served with freshly baked bread, still warm, was to die for and Hunter savoured every mouthful. As the dishes were cleared away, Hunter topped up their wine glasses and searched out Beth’s eyes. He said softly, “Have I told you how gorgeous you look?”
A smile broke from her lips. “No, you haven’t, and I’ve made such an effort tonight.”
“I can t
ell, and I apologise. You look gorgeous.”
“And you don’t scrub up bad yourself.”
He held up his wine as a toast, and they gently chinked glasses. “To us. And many more happy years.”
The second course was just as delicious. The sirloin was served with Jersey Royal potatoes, and runner beans and baby carrots cooked al dente. Hunter commented to Beth that it was the best cooked piece of steak he had tasted.
They were too full for dessert and gave up on the coffee and mints. Hunter settled their bill, helped Beth on with her coat and they left the hotel. Outside it was a full moon, and Hunter was very thankful, because it had slipped his mind to bring a torch. Huddling in close, Beth grabbed his arm, gave it a hug, and they slowly made their way back, a silvery thread lighting their way.
Opening the cottage gate, Hunter saw the downstairs lights on and wondered if his parents were still up. “Fancy a nightcap?” he said, turning to Beth.
“I could drink another glass of wine, if your mum and dad have left any.”
“What are you trying to say about my parents?”
She chuckled.
Hunter was just securing the gate when he felt and heard his mobile ring. He instantly thought of work and reached into his pocket. “Will you pour me a small whisky? I’ll just get this,” he said, taking out his phone while watching Beth making for the door. He checked who was ringing. It was a mobile number he didn’t recognise, though he could guess who it was. He answered but didn’t say anything.
After a couple of seconds of listening, Hunter picked up the noise of someone breathing and said, “Who is this?”
“Your old friend, Detective.”
He instantly recognised Billy Wallace’s gravelly Scottish voice. “You’re no friend of mine, Billy.”
There followed a long snort, and then Billy said, “I’m sending you something.”
Hunter’s phone pinged and he withdrew the phone from his ear and viewed the screen. There was a video waiting. He tapped the screen, saw an image of a group of people huddled together and hit play. The video was of his family walking down the passenger gantry at Guernsey, and as it ended, he felt his stomach empty and icy fingers run down his spine. Someone had watched them boarding the ferry to Sark. That could only mean one thing — Billy knew where they were. The vision of the straggly grey-haired man at the Bel Air flashed into his brain, as did the young barman he had been talking with earlier.
“Did you think you could escape from me, Detective? I told you I had some unfinished business with your da, and you should keep out of it. You’ve made your choice, and now all of you will suffer.”
“You sick fuck,” Hunter growled.
Billy let out a long laugh, and Hunter felt a chill run down his back. “When I’ve finished with you and your da, I’m going to rape that beautiful wifey and ma of yours up the arse.”
Before Hunter could respond, the line went dead.
For a few seconds he stared at his phone, bringing his breathing and racing heartbeat back under control. The last thing he wanted to do was look agitated when he entered the house. Beth would immediately pick up on it and realise something was wrong.
A minute later, feeling he was back in control, he slipped his phone back in his pocket and took a last steadying breath as he took a step toward the door. He had just turned the handle when a scream from his mother froze him in his tracks. For a brief moment the shock stunned him, but it was only momentary. Slamming down the handle, he leapt into the house. He instantly saw Fiona, Jock and Beth all clustered around the conservatory door, peering into the garden. Fiona and Beth had their hands to their faces. Hunter bolted across the kitchen, into the lounge and into the conservatory, forcing himself among them. Following their gazes, he saw what they were all looking at. Directly outside the set of doors, stretched out on a stone flag was a dead black cat. It looked like the one he had seen that morning.
“Oh, poor thing,” said Fiona. “Looks like a dog’s got hold of it.”
Hunter dropped to his haunches and took a lingering look at it through the double glazing. Its mouth was agape, tongue lolling out. The instant he saw the bulging eyes, he knew this cat hadn’t been attacked by a dog. Bulging eyes could only mean one thing: strangulation.
Hunter lay on his back in the dark, listening to Beth’s steady breathing beside him. He had tried to get to sleep but failed miserably. That video, Billy’s comments, and the dead cat had tortured his thoughts from the moment he’d closed his eyes. He had not even been able to drink the whisky Beth had poured him. And now he had indigestion to add to the sickness in his stomach, and his throat was as dry as a bone. He needed a drink.
Rolling over gently, he pulled on his shorts, grabbed his T-shirt and slipped quietly out of the bedroom. Out on the landing he stood for a moment, listening. The house was quiet. He pulled on his T-shirt and tiptoed downstairs. He was in no mood to read tonight, but he hoped a cup of tea might settle him.
As Hunter stepped into the kitchen, he heard a noise. It was just a small sound of something, or someone, shuffling outside, close to the back door. He froze, balling his hands into tight fists, straining his ears. There was definitely a noise outside. He focused on the kitchen door. A sliver of moonlight poked through the gap at the bottom, creeping onto the wooden floor. Suddenly, a shadow passed across the base, temporarily cutting off the light and Hunter’s heart skipped a beat. On the kitchen table he spotted an empty wine bottle, and he snatched it up and moved quickly towards the door. As he reached for the handle, he could feel his chest tighten.
In one swift motion, he turned the key and sprang open the door. All he saw was darkness. The moon had disappeared behind clouds and it took him by surprise. Then, movement at the periphery of his sight startled him, and as he spun, a whooshing noise fractured his hearing. Before instinct told him to duck, a heavy blow smashed his forehead. A sharp pain tore through his head to the back of his neck. At the same time, flashes of red and white exploded behind his eyes and he became light-headed. Then, his legs buckled beneath him. That was the last thing he remembered as blackness overcame him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
A jumble of noise, voices of panic, brought Hunter round, and snapping open his eyes he was confused to see his dad leaning over him. For a second, he was disoriented; he was lying on the path outside. How had he got here? Suddenly his head was hurting, and it came to him in a flash. Someone had whacked him.
“Just stay where you are. Try not to move. We’ve called for an ambulance and the police,” said Jock.
Hunter tried to raise himself, but his sight was cartwheeling and he stopped, dropping back onto one arm. Behind him he could hear Beth’s voice calling Fiona’s name, and he was confused. He was the one who was hurt. Lifting his head, he turned to get a look back inside the cottage. What he saw threw his thoughts into a state of alarm. Fiona was lying on the kitchen floor in her dressing gown, one leg tucked awkwardly beneath the other. Beth was on her knees beside her, holding her head, supporting her. Fiona’s complexion was extremely pale, almost alabaster. Hunter jerked up onto an elbow and his vision started to spin. He froze, and in a second, he was focused again. His mother was unconscious. He met Beth’s eyes. “What’s happened to Mum?”
“She collapsed after we found you.”
He felt sick and his head started to pound.
“Her breathing’s rapid, Hunter, but she is breathing. We’ve dialled 999 and asked for the ambulance. I’m holding her steady and monitoring her. You just stay where you are for now. You’ve got a nasty cut above your eye.”
Hunter pushed himself up further and pressed a hand to his head. He felt a stickiness and pulled it away to get a look. His hand was covered in blood, and now his head was beginning to hurt like hell. He looked back at Fiona. Beth had turned her onto her side. “Has she had a heart attack?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I’ve checked her pulse, and she’s got a regular beat. The ambulance shouldn’t be long now.�
�
As she finished speaking, Hunter heard what sounded like a tractor coming closer. The next minute, the garden gate crashed open and Budgie appeared with another man who was carrying a large backpack.
“What happened?” Budgie asked. He flicked his head at the man beside him, slim, with dark thinning hair, who looked to be in his early forties. “This is the doctor,” he announced.
“Someone whacked me,” Hunter snapped back. “But will you see to my mum first? She’s collapsed.”
The doctor left his side and stepped inside the cottage. He heard Beth say, “This is Fiona, she’s sixty. She collapsed approximately fifteen minutes ago. Her breathing is steady, her pulse is ninety-six and regular.” After a pause, she added, “I’m a nurse.”
“Okay, Fiona,” the doctor said loudly, bending down, “I’m Doctor Grayson, Ian. I’m here to help you.”
Hunter struggled to answer Budgie’s questions — no, he didn’t know what had happened. He hadn’t seen anyone, and he didn’t know what he had been hit with — this was the form of questioning he normally undertook, when he was dealing with someone who had been attacked. While he answered the questions, he had one ear and eye on what was happening with his mother.
Fiona had come around, and although groggy, was responding to the medical questions Doctor Grayson was asking. Hunter watched him checking her heart and blood pressure before turning to Beth. “I don’t think it’s a heart attack, but I’m going to take her back to the Medical Centre and check her out.” Then, turning to Hunter, he continued, “And I want you to come with me as well, so I can check out that head of yours. It looks as though that wound might require a couple of stitches.”
The Medical Centre was a converted bungalow, a stone’s throw away from the village, and it was well equipped; the room they were ushered into served as a mini A&E as well as the doctor’s consulting area. Following a quick examination, despite him having a pounding headache, Hunter was pleased to learn that he hadn’t got concussion. He was even more pleased when the doctor told him that the cut above his eye didn’t require suturing and that Steri-Strips would do just as good a job.
Hunted: A psychotic killer is out for revenge... (THE DS HUNTER KERR INVESTIGATIONS Book 6) Page 11
