“Morning, Dawn, shit the bed?”
She cracked a smile. They went so far back that John was the only Sergeant she allowed to call her by her first name. Everyone else referred to her as boss.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“John, I’m sending you up two of my best officers this morning. They’re on the eleven-twenty train and should be with you just after four. They’re booked into the hotel near the railway station. They’re fully up to speed with what’s gone on, and I’ll be doing a final briefing with them before they leave.”
“Looking forward to meeting them.”
Pausing, she said, “How have you gone on since we last talked?”
“It’s not good news, I’m afraid, Dawn. We tracked Billy via CCTV to the railway station, where we believe he got the train to Doncaster, which, although no consolation, definitely nails him for the attack on your PC at Jock’s place. We literally have no idea where he is at the moment.”
“What about contacts?”
“Most of his old contacts have died. He has a sister who’s in her sixties, but she’s had nothing to do with him since he shot that mother and bairn. All his immediate family are no longer around.” Taking a deep breath, he continued, “He obviously has someone he’s in contact with, because how else would he have arranged his escape? But as far as that goes, we haven’t found who that person or persons are yet.”
“Have you checked with the prison to see who’s visited him while he’s been inside this past eighteen months?”
“That’s one of the actions. We’re speaking with the Governor today to get access to his records.”
“Okay, John, you seem to have everything in hand.”
“We’re pulling out all the stops here, Dawn. Believe me. We want Billy back inside as much as you do. How’s Hunter and his da, by the way?”
“So-so. Hunter’s keeping himself busy helping out the island cops. I spoke with him last night, and they’re currently doing a search of the island for whoever whacked him. He tells me it’s a pretty tight-knit community, so he’s hoping to have them locked up pretty sharpish. I’m making a request to send a couple of my team across there. I don’t know how that’s going to go down.”
“Oh, okay. Well, I wish you well. And I’ll keep you in the loop. Or rather, your spies will.”
“Now, now, John, do I detect some sarcasm there? You know I’m not sending them up there to interfere.”
He gave a quick burst of laughter. “I know, Dawn. Just teasing.”
“Oh, and John…”
“Yes, Dawn?”
“No getting my officers pissed.”
She caught another burst of laughter from John as she ended the call.
Hunter studied his face in the bathroom mirror. He looked shocking. It wasn’t just the bruising around his head and eye, but how tired and pale he looked. He’d had yet another restless night. He had spent the early hours of the morning listening to the sounds around the house, getting out of bed on several occasions to gaze out through the window, over the garden, because he was unsure what the noise was. But he had seen nothing, and no matter how hard he had tried to convince himself it was his imagination running wild, he had still jerked upright with each fresh sound. He had eventually fallen asleep, but it had been well after 4 a.m. For the second night running. Now he was knackered. He ran a hand along his jawline, turning his head. The two-day stubble did nothing to help his appearance, and determined that he could at least try and look fresh, he lathered his face with shaving gel to start a wet shave.
Twenty-five minutes later, shaved, showered and dressed, Hunter made his way downstairs. Fiona was in the kitchen with Beth, making a pan of porridge. Beth was pouring hot water over teabags in four cups. He saw Jock in the conservatory, staring out over the garden. The weather still looked murky. There was a busyness about the cottage, and yet Hunter sensed an unease. The troubles of the last week, especially the last few days, were beginning to take their toll. Pasting on a false smile, he wished everyone a “Good morning,” in high-spirited fashion, sidled up to Beth, gave her waist a hug and picked up one of the mugs of tea she had just added milk to. The same was returned, but again the smiles weren’t genuine. No one was kidding anyone. The strain on everyone was there for all to see.
“What’s happening with Jonathan and Daniel?” Hunter asked of Beth.
She finished stirring the cups and dropped the spoon into the sink. It went with a clatter. “I’ve asked Mum and Dad if they can stay with them for now. Apparently, they’ve done nothing but talk about what happened to you and Nannan Fiona. Mum said they seemed really nervous about having to come back to the cottage, so she’s offered for them to stay there.”
Hunter watched Beth’s mouth tighten. Her bottom lip started to quiver. He held her eyes, adjusting his gaze, trying to pass on some reassurance. He stroked her arm. “I think it would be a good idea. I’m going to speak with Budgie and see if there’s anywhere else we can stay. Somewhere where the boys might feel safer. I’ve already rang The Stocks Hotel, but they’re full.”
“Did you have any joy yesterday with your search?” Fiona asked.
Hunter shook his head. “I spoke with Budgie late last night. They’ve searched most of the island and checked all those that are camping, but no joy. The hotels and B&Bs have not got anyone staying there who looks like the guy we saw at the Bel Air, so he’s now speaking with those who rent cottages and rooms. As he says, it’s a lot harder because of all the people here for the Festival of Light. He’s pretty confident, though, that the guy will turn up.”
“What about the police from Guernsey? Are they coming across?”
Hunter was just about to respond when his mobile rang. He snatched it up off the side, seeing Budgie’s name light up the screen. He held up his hand to Beth and his mum.
“Morning, Budgie.”
“Morning, Hunter. What are you up to?”
“Just having breakfast, why?”
“Well, drop what you’re doing and get over to the police station. I’m just on the way there. We think we’ve found your guy.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The police station was in a two-storey building next to the Chief Pleas Office — the island’s Parliament. It was a shared building, accommodating both Fire and Ambulance Service, with Budgie’s office on the first floor. Hunter bounded up the stairs, knuckle-rapping the door, entering without waiting for an answer. The office was roughly twelve feet by twelve but filled with so many filing cabinets and desks that there was very little space to manoeuvre around. Budgie and four of his Special Constables were standing over one of the desks, poring over an Ordnance Survey map of Sark. They looked up as Hunter entered.
“We’re just sorting out our approach and who’s going to do what,” Budgie said, placing a finger over the area of map they had been studying.
“What have you got?” asked Hunter, joining them, eyes hopping one from cop to another before turning them on the map.
Budgie lifted his finger and pointed. “I got a phone call this morning from one of our residents who rents out a couple of cottages she and her husband own. They’re located in the woods in Dixcart Valley, and the lady who rang me believes one of them has been rented by our man. It was rented four days ago for a fortnight. The name it’s been rented under is Mr T. H. Law. She met him when she handed the keys over, and having looked at the photo she’s certain its him. What I’m doing now is just sorting out our best approach.” Budgie stabbed his finger over an area of woodland. “It’s not clear on this map, but there are a group of five cottages in the middle of these woods. I think our best approach is through the woods to the back of the cottages. Then we’ll split up. Hunter, I want you and three others to cover the rear, just in case he does a runner, and one will come with me to the front. It’s going to be a door-knocking exercise only, and I don’t want him seeing you, Hunter.” He paused, looking at Hunter, before continuing. “We can’t prove he’s the one who at
tacked you, so it’s softly, softly. If it is the man from the Bel Air Inn, I’m going to tell him we’re just carrying out checks of people on the island because we’ve had a number of break-ins. Then I’m going to get his details, if he’ll give them.”
Hunter acknowledged with a quick nod. “What about the name he’s given? Have you checked him out?”
“I’ve run it through the computer and there are a number of hits for Law, but none of them with the initials T. H. That’s why I’m going to see if he’ll give me his full details.”
Hunter nodded again. “You seem to have everything covered, Budgie.”
Budgie folded his map and picked up his radio, glancing at them all. “Let’s rock ’n’ roll, then.”
The six cops made their way through the village in the direction of Hunter’s cottage, their number attracting several turned heads. As they stepped onto the track, beside the gate to the cottage, Hunter realised where they were heading; he and his family had taken this route, their first day, to the Dixcart Hotel. A brief image of the cottages they were heading to flashed inside his head and he tried to retain that vision, but all he could hold onto was a brief memory of them having a picture-postcard feel about them. He was eager to see them again. He especially couldn’t wait to see if the man staying in one of them was the same guy he had seen at the Bel Air Inn. More importantly, he was eager to get his identity so that he could check any connections to Billy Wallace. If that was flagged up, it would be a game-changer.
The trek through the woods was more hazardous than Hunter’s last one; the wet and damp weather had made the narrow path sloppy and the fallen leaves slippery underfoot. There were times they all had to grab onto a tree each to stop themselves sliding onto their backsides. The last part of the journey was making the crossing over the stream. Hunter saw that it wasn’t as tranquil as last time; the water had gained in volume, gushing against the banks and rocks, splashing up onto the wooden bridge they walked over. The liquid roar was deafening, and Hunter thought he wouldn’t like to make this journey at night.
The backs of the five granite cottages sprang into view as they emerged from the woods. They were joined together in one long line, and the track led them past the gable end of the first cottage. The cottage rented by Mr. Law was at the opposite end. Hunter’s eyes roamed along the row. His last memory of this setting had been of warm pink stone cottages set among beautiful cared-for gardens. That last fairy tale impression of them was now masked by a fine mist, which dismally subdued the colours.
“Hunter, you slip along to the end with my three. I’ll take Kevin here and we’ll do the knock. If I need you, I’ll shout.”
Hunter and three of the Special Constables nodded without saying a word and set off slowly along a flagstone path that ran the rear of the cottages. Budgie and Kevin slipped through a gate that took them past the shoulder-high garden wall of the first cottage.
It took Hunter and the three Specials no more than a minute to reach the end cottage. Their silent approach had ensured no one had come out. They pressed themselves back against the stonework of the last cottage, close to its back door, in case whoever was in there made an attempt to flee. Hunter felt his heartrate picking up and took a great gulp of air to steady his breathing. He turned an ear to the back door, trying to tune in to the sounds inside the cottage. Everything was quiet. Suddenly, the radio of the Constable standing beside him erupted, making them all jump. It was Budgie. His voice raised a notch, he was telling them to get around to the front.
At a fast jog, Hunter and the three Specials slipped around the side of the end cottage and joined Budgie and Kevin, who were standing by the front door. It was ajar a good foot, and Hunter immediately noticed a stain on the doorstep that flowed into the hallway. It was blood. Not a large swathe, but enough to be worried about. Someone, or something, had been badly hurt. Hunter could make out the imprint of a shoe tread within it. He met Budgie’s concerned look. “You haven’t been inside?” Hunter questioned.
“Called you as soon as I saw this,” Budgie replied.
“Okay, I’ll take a quick look. Everyone stay here, then if there’s anything untoward, only I’ll have contaminated the scene.” Hunter received approving looks from everyone, and bunching his hand and slipping it inside his coat sleeve, so as not to leave fingerprints, he slowly pushed the door inwards with his forearm.
The doorway led straight into the lounge. He stepped inside, stopping next to the door, and instantly noticed further bloodstains in the form of splatter arcing across the lower half of the wall. Mr Law, or someone else, had taken a nasty whack. He peered around. The room was approximately twelve feet square and contained a mocha-coloured two-seater sofa and armchair, and a flat screen TV on a stand in one corner next to an open fireplace with a grate. It looked as if there had been a fire burning at some stage, but only ashes were left. There was a magazine open face-down on the floor beside the sofa. The floor was wooden floorboards, and he noticed some further splatter.
Hunter called back, “Someone’s certainly taken a battering, but there’s no one here, so far.” Stepping further into the room, avoiding the blood marks he reached a staircase in the middle of the house. He noted the house was as cold inside as outside, and that told him the front door had been open for some time.
At the bottom of the stairs, he paused. Another doorway led to the kitchen. He poked his head inside. It was slightly smaller than the lounge, wooden units running around three sides with a small table and two chairs against the fourth wall. Hunter noted a couple of dirty plates and cups and an empty microwave meal-for-one container on the draining board next to the sink. Nothing else was out of place.
“I’m going to check upstairs,” he called without looking back. The steep narrow staircase split to two rooms at the top. The bedroom to the front contained an unmade double bed, a wardrobe, a set of drawers and a bedside cabinet all matching in cream with wooden tops. At the back were two rooms — a much smaller bedroom, containing a single bed and a set of drawers, and at the end of a narrow hallway was the bathroom, a grouping of aftershave, deodorant, toothbrush and wash bag on the window sill. The house was empty of life.
Hunter carefully made his way back down the stairs, returning to the front door, hugging the wall all the way. Outside, Budgie and the four Specials were waiting, wearing expectant looks.
“There’s no one in there, but I’m not happy with this one bit. The windows are all still latched, and the back door’s locked.” Pointing to the bloodstains, Hunter added, “Except for the blood, there’s no sign of a struggle, or fight, or anything, but that looks reasonably fresh to me, probably only several hours old, and it’s my guess that the victim answered the front door and was attacked on the doorstep. More than likely taken by surprise, like I was. No time to defend themselves. This certainly needs following up.” Pausing, he said, “It might be a silly question, Budgie, but do you have anyone on the island trained in forensics?”
Budgie shook his head. “We don’t have the call for anyone to be trained. If we need forensics, and it’s very rare we do, we call on Guernsey. I can only remember them coming here a couple of times in the last ten years, once for a suicide, and once when we had a spate of burglaries committed by someone from Jersey employed by a hotel.”
“Okay, I need you to make that call. In the meantime, we need to secure this scene and carry out a search of the surrounding area just in case someone is lying around injured. With regards to the house, we need to preserve those bloodstains and find something to put on the floor so we don’t contaminate it while we carry out a search of the place and see if we can find anything which will tell us who exactly our guy is and where he’s from.”
They found some old boxes and sacks in an outbuilding, and Hunter, slipping into work-mode, covered the main stain by the front door with a large box, and laid the sacking inside the cottage, spacing them apart so that they could step from one sack to the other, enabling them to move from one room to the other
without tainting the integrity of possible forensic evidence. One of the Specials ran back to the station and returned with a box of latex gloves and paper overshoes.
Hunter paired the Specials up, instructing two to conduct a search of the immediate surroundings, while he and Budgie and the other two Specials carried out a search of the cottage. He and Budgie took the upstairs, selecting the front bedroom as their starting point. Hunter took the wardrobe. There wasn’t a lot of clothing hung up in there at all, just three T-shirts, a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. The man certainly hadn’t packed to stay here any length of time.
In the bottom of the wardrobe was a small suitcase. It wasn’t locked, and Hunter unzipped it. Inside was a UK passport. He was elated. He took it out and opened it. He instantly saw that the photograph was that of the person he had seen at the Bel Air Inn, but after reading the name of who it belonged to, he attracted Budgie’s attention. Holding it up, he said, “Well, according to this passport, our man is certainly not called T. H. Law.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
A search of the cottage gardens, and a narrow section of woodland backing onto the cottages, revealed no injured persons, and all they found inside the cottage of note, besides the passport, was an e-ticket for a return flight from Guernsey to Glasgow in the name of the passport holder, Nicholas Strachan. Hunter checked out the passport. It appeared genuine enough. He put it into a plastic bag with the e-ticket, put a note inside with time and date and pushed the bag into his coat pocket. Then, they secured the cottage and returned to the station.
Hunted: A psychotic killer is out for revenge... (THE DS HUNTER KERR INVESTIGATIONS Book 6) Page 14
