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

by Michael Fowler

  Thin shafts of light were beginning to stream through the gaps in the curtains, and Hunter drew back his gaze, fixing it upon his parents and Beth. Each of them looked snug in their sleeping bags and appeared to be fast asleep. He wished sleep would come to him.

  He scanned their surroundings. The room was no doubt the hub of the centre. Its walls were adorned with wildlife and landscape photographs from the island, paintings done by children — Budgie had already told them to expect some noise early on because the school was attached — plus posters, advertising talks and presentations. Tables and chairs had been pushed against the walls to make room for their beds. It wasn’t an ideal setting, but under the circumstances Hunter was extremely grateful once again for Budgie’s help. The guy deserves a medal, he thought, and he was certainly going to recommend him for a commendation when he got back home. It was the least he could do.

  Shortly after 8 a.m., Hunter, Beth, Jock and Fiona rose from their beds, disturbed by activity beyond the walls of their room; they could make out the sound of pots and pans being moved around. Ten minutes later, there was a gentle knock on the inter-connecting door; behind it, a woman’s voice asked if everyone was decent. Beth shouted for her to come in, and the door opened to reveal a fair-haired, slim lady, wearing glasses, who looked to be in her mid-fifties. She had on an apron over a pair of jeans and woolly jumper. “I’m just cooking you all breakfast. Would you like tea or coffee?” Hunter looked to Beth and then his mum and dad. Each of them wore a smile. It was such a welcoming greeting, given their recent experience.

  After breakfast, Hunter made a relatively quick phone call to Dawn Leggate to apprise her of the situation, and as he ended the call Budgie showed up with a Special Constable that Hunter recognised from the previous day. They each carried a black plastic sack, which they dumped on the floor.

  Budgie opened his up. “This is not ideal, I know, and I hope you won’t feel embarrassed, but we’ve brought you some clothes that should fit. They’re from our charity shop. They’re probably not to your taste, and not to your liking —” he let out a chuckle — “but they are clean and fresh and should sort you out until we see what’s left of your things in the cottage.”

  Everyone looked at one another.

  “Beggars can’t be choosers,” said Fiona. “Thank you, this is much appreciated.”

  “And just to let you know, the fire fighters have managed to save most of the upstairs. The bedroom above the lounge, and the bathroom, are a write-off. You’ll not be able to get anything from those rooms, but they’ve saved the two bedrooms above the kitchen. There is smoke damage, but it doesn’t look as if anything’s been damaged by the fire. That’s the best news I can give.” Budgie looked to Hunter. “You’ll have noticed the weather?”

  Hunter nodded.

  “Well, the sea’s really rough, so there’s no ferry service today. That means no forensic or CID support, I’m afraid. They’re hoping to send across a team from Guernsey tomorrow.”

  Hunter acknowledged this with another nod.

  “Oh, and I’ve some real good news for you all…” Budgie looked to each of them. “I’ve found you some accommodation. Again, it’s not ideal, but the place is dry and warm and will be able to cater for you all.” Pausing and checking their faces, he continued, “It’s a chalet on one of our campsites. It’s got two double bedrooms, fully furnished, with a kitchen and lounge with woodstove. It even comes with a free supply of logs.” He finished the last sentence with an edge of wit.

  “There’s no end to your generosity, Budgie,” Fiona responded.

  “Not me you have to thank for that, it’s the farmer who owns the campsite. He’s one of the Special Constables here as well, by the way.” Looking to everyone, tapping the nearest black sack with his foot, Budgie added, “And now if you want to choose some clothes, I’ll take you to the cottage so you can see what you can retrieve.”

  Beth’s dad was waiting for them when they all arrived at the cottage. He was dressed in uniform, acting as Lead Firefighter. He wrapped his arms around Beth, pulling her close, greeting her with a kiss on the cheek. Releasing her, he asked, “You okay?”

  “I’m fine, Dad. Thank you. We all are. Shook up a bit, but we’re okay, given what might have happened.” She threw her gaze in the direction of the cottage.

  Ray let out a relieved sigh. “It could have been worse, I’ll grant you that.”

  “Budgie says you’ve managed to save our and Mum and Dad’s rooms,” interjected Hunter.

  Ray turned his attention to Hunter. “Yes. We couldn’t save Jonathan and Daniel’s room, I’m afraid. Unfortunately, everything in there’s been lost. That room was directly above the seat of the fire.”

  Ray’s words triggered another dreadful thought for Hunter. Jonathan and Daniel. He was so grateful they hadn’t been there. It didn’t bear thinking about what might have been. He shuddered.

  “Shall we go and see what we can recover?”

  Ray’s voice brought Hunter’s thoughts back. He nodded.

  “We’ve shored up the ceilings with props, and the stairs seen pretty safe, but just stay close to the wall when you go up them,” Ray said, setting off up the path to the cottage.

  The moment they entered the smouldering blackened kitchen, the stench of smoke got into the backs of everyone’s throats, causing them to gag.

  Hunter pinched his nose and covered his mouth. The smell he noticed most was woodsmoke. But then he wasn’t surprised, given that each of the rooms had beamed ceilings. The next thing he noticed was the gaping hole between the beams in the lounge. Poking through from above, he recognised a couple of legs from Jonathan and Daniel’s bunkbed. The beams had prevented the bed falling through. Another chill ran down his spine as he pulled away his gaze. Below his feet, the floor was swimming with filthy blackened water. For a moment, Hunter studied the destruction. It was going to take a lot of work to return this to a habitable state. It might even have to be pulled down, he thought.

  “Come on, follow me,” said Ray, “I’ll take you up to your rooms.”

  Hunter did as Ray had told him, staying close to the wall as he followed him up the stairs. He could smell the scorched plaster and saw that most of the stairway wall was cracked as he climbed. Reaching the landing, a cold breeze greeted them, and Hunter saw all the doors to the bedrooms were wide open. He zipped up the fleece Budgie had given him and stepped into his and Beth’s room. His parents peeled away to theirs. The moment he entered, the cloying smell of soot caught the back of his throat, making him cough. He hawked and spat on the floor. Beth tapped his shoulder as a rebuke. Although Ray had told them their bedroom had been saved, he had expected to see some damage. True, the room was a mess, puddles in places over the floor, and the bed soaked through, but the fire had thankfully not touched anything. Hunter flashed Beth a grateful grin and went to the wardrobe, pulling open the doors. All their clothes were still on hangers.

  Beth reached past him, pulled out a pair of jeans and held them to her nose. “They smell of smoke, but a good wash will soon get rid of that.” Then she reached down and pulled out a pair of heels. “My favourite Karen Millens, thank God.”

  Hunter burst out laughing. “Beth Kerr, what are you like? We could have all been burned to death in our beds, and all you’re worried about is whether your favourite pair of heels are okay.”

  She gave him a dig in the ribs and put back her shoes. Pointing to their suitcase in the bottom of the wardrobe, she said, “Come on, let’s get all our stuff out of here and go and see this chalet Budgie’s found for us.”

  Hunter dragged out the case, suddenly feeling a lot better than he did a few hours ago.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  The sun wasn’t even up when Dawn Leggate swung her car into the MIT car park, and she wasn’t the only one out and about early — Hunter was also up. She had already ignored two of his calls while driving to work. She made her way upstairs, bidding good morning to the cleaner who was hoovering the MIT
office as she keyed in her password to enter her office. Setting down her bag, she unbuttoned and slipped off her coat, draped it around the back of her chair, booted up her computer and took out her phone. Speed-dialling Hunter, she set her mobile to speakerphone and listened to it ring out.

  He answered on the second ring. “Boss.” He sounded slightly out of breath, as if he were on the move.

  “Can you talk?”

  “Two secs, I’m just going somewhere quiet.”

  Dawn listened to the sound of footsteps on wood followed by a door opening and closing, and then he was back on the phone, telling her it was okay to speak. She replied, “I’ve missed a couple of your calls, sorry. I was driving, and my phone wasn’t hands-free. Has something happened?”

  “How long have you got?”

  For the next ten minutes, she listened to Hunter explain the most recent incident. Pushing herself back in her chair, her thoughts were switching into investigative mode as he expanded on the detail. When he stopped talking, she left it a couple of seconds to ensure there was nothing else forthcoming, and then she said, “You said no one was hurt?”

  “No, something woke me up. If I hadn’t have done, I hate to think what might have been.”

  “It’s not worth thinking about.” After a short pause, she added, “And you’ve no idea who it might be?”

  “Something tells me it wasn’t Billy. Again, like when I was clobbered a couple of nights back, I think if it had been him who fired the place, he would have been waiting to see what happened to us. He would have wanted to see what happened to my dad, I’m certain about that. He sent a text, by the way, telling me he was ‘just warming up’, but that was almost a good hour after it happened. I think whoever set fire to the cottage did a runner the moment it went up and then phoned or texted Billy. At the moment, there are two suspects we’re looking at: this Nicholas Strachan guy and a Scottish barman at one of the hotels here.” He went on to tell her about his suspicions of the young man known as Ian McDonald. “He was supposedly off sick last night, so Budgie’s doing some follow up checks this morning and checking his ID.” Pausing, he added, “Have you managed to find out anything about Nicholas Strachan yet?”

  “No, I forwarded everything you sent me to John, but he hasn’t got back to me. I do know he’s tied up with the murders of the three who helped Billy escape, and he’s got everyone available out searching for him, so it won’t be his priority at the moment. The second he gets back with anything, I’ll ring you.” Dawn let what she had just said sink in and then added, “I’m guessing by your request you haven’t found Strachan yet?”

  “No. We’ve done a thorough search of the cottage he was renting and a search of a big section of the woods at the back. Budgie and his team are extending it today to see if there’s any sign of him.”

  “And anything from forensics?”

  “Hit a snag there, boss. The weather’s taken a turn for the worse, and the sea’s too rough for the ferry, so the team from Guernsey can’t get to us at the moment. Apparently, it’s like this every so often. A day or so and it’ll change, I’m told.”

  “Okay, and just for your info, I’ve made a request for a couple of the team to come out and join you as well, but I’m waiting for a response from Guernsey. I’m guessing they’ll not be too happy with the thought of us interfering.”

  “To be fair, boss, things are pretty much tied up here. Strachan’s not going to be able to get off the island without the ferry, and Budgie is doing a pretty good job given the circumstances. There are certainly enough bodies for him to call on. All that’s lacking is experience, and they’re certainly happy with me being involved to supply that.”

  “That’s good. Well, let me know how you’re getting on. Tell me the moment anything changes or happens, and I’ll chase up John again regarding this Nicholas Strachan fellow.”

  “Okay, thanks boss. I’ll probably give you a call this evening. Budgie’s sorted us out some more accommodation, so I’m going to get us settled in there, and then I’m going to join him and his team and see if they’ve got anything.”

  “Well, it does sound as though you’re on top of everything there. I’ll wait for your call. And please send my regards to your family.”

  “Thanks, I will, boss.”

  Checking there was nothing else, Dawn ended the call and turned to her emails, firing off another to John Reed, updating him about the fire at Hunter’s rented cottage, and how it was started with petrol, believing it was an attempt to kill him and his family. It was an urgent prompt for him to get back to her ASAP. Then, she began her daily routine.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  The new place wasn’t a chalet at all but a Scandinavian style log cabin with a porch at the front, a high-pitch roof and lots of windows. Inside was highly polished pine — walls ceiling and floor. Heavy rugs covered the floor. The lounge-cum-dining room had a cathedral ceiling with roof lights, giving it a bright and airy feel despite the foul weather outside. The only thing that wasn’t polished wood was a large stone fireplace in which sat an iron grate loaded with logs.

  “Beautiful,” said Beth, coming up behind Hunter, resting her chin on his shoulder.

  It certainly was, Hunter thought, setting down their suitcases. “I’m going to light that fire and see if there’s anything to make us a hot drink.”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” Jock said, dragging his and Fiona’s cases in.

  Hunter could see that both his parents had flushed faces, his mum slightly out of breath, but she looked a damn sight better than last night, he told himself.

  Beth grabbed hold of their cases and began wheeling them to one of the bedrooms. “While you stick the kettle on, I’m going to sort through our clothes and see what needs washing and what doesn’t.”

  “And I’m going to do the same,” Fiona responded, taking them from her husband’s grasp and setting off after Beth. Jock followed her into the second bedroom.

  Hunter found a box of matches on the mantel above the fireplace, started the fire, made sure it had taken hold and went through to the kitchen. More polished wood was in here, including the cupboards. He rooted in the cupboards for cups and found everything he needed to make tea and coffee. Now he just needed milk. The fridge was a large American style one, and he opened it to find not only had milk been put in there, but also orange juice, margarine, cuts of ham, a wedge of cheese and fresh salad. The farmer’s generosity caused a lump to form in his throat. Swallowing, Hunter shouted through to the others, “They’ve left us some food as well,” and pulled out the cuts of ham.

  He was surprisingly hungry, even though his stomach was still turning — his thoughts still on what might have been, had he not woken up. He knew that thought was going to hang around for a good few days at least, but he was determined it wasn’t going to let it overshadow everything. He had other things to focus on. Finding Nicholas Strachan, for one. And right now, he had something else just as important to think about — getting something to eat and drink. I’m as hungry as a scabby horse.

  As Hunter searched for some bread — hoping the farmer’s generosity had stretched to buying them a loaf — he was reminded of one of Barry’s regular statements: ‘An army doesn’t march on an empty stomach’, and he broke into a smile as he opened up a cupboard he hadn’t yet searched. He struck lucky. Not only had the farmer left bread but breadcakes as well, and Hunter took them out and began making sandwiches with the ham and cheese. By the time he had made four cups of tea, Beth, Fiona and Jock were joining him in the kitchen.

  “The clothes are not as bad as I thought,” Beth said, eyeing the pile of sandwiches and picking out a ham one. “A good blow in this wind on the line and they should be good as new. The wardrobe and drawers have protected them.”

  Hunter picked up a cheese and tomato sandwich he had made especially for himself and was about to bite into it when his mobile rang. He put down the sandwich and dug his phone out from his pocket, looking at who was calling. “
It’s Budgie,” he exclaimed and answered. “Afternoon, Budgie, this place you’ve got us is fantastic…”

  Budgie cut into his sentence. “Sorry to disturb you so soon, Hunter, but a couple of my team have just rung me. They’ve found a body in Dixcart Bay, and the description they’ve given me sounds like our man Strachan. I’m just on my way down there, and I’d appreciate your help if you wouldn’t mind.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  The nearer Hunter got to the bay, the more fiercely he could feel the wind growing in strength. By the time he reached the slope leading to the concrete stairwell to the beach, it had become a gale, the sea roaring in its vortex, and as he put down a foot on the top step, he found himself being buffeted so much that he had to grab the handrail to stop himself being blown over the side.

  Steadying himself, he took his first look at the scene. Thanks to the high-vis jacket, he instantly spotted one of the Special Constables he had been with the previous day searching Nicholas Strachan’s cottage. The officer was shielding himself against the rockface beside the entranceway of the natural arch, and Hunter guessed the body was the other side of the bay. He signalled to the officer and steadily began his descent, his eyes roaming along the beach. Vicious waves were exploding onto the sand, sending up a booming noise as they broke, and as he steered his gaze through the wicked swell behind, Hunter found it hard to believe that a week ago this had been such a different setting; the sea had been so calm, mirroring the colours of the Mediterranean.

  Shaking his head, he lifted his eyes skyward. Beyond the horizon, fists of storm clouds, the colour of indigo, punched their way across the sky and bands of rain like umbilical cords connected sky to earth. The view was so visually dramatic, which as an artist he appreciated, and yet with an entirely different eye and reason for being here, he prayed the distant storm was going to remain out at sea.