Loose, well-worn pebbles and wet sand made the short trek to the natural arch difficult, and he found himself catching his breath as he asked the Constable, “Who’s here?”
The Constable cupped an ear towards him, throwing him a questioning look, the gusts obviously impeding his hearing.
Shouting to make himself heard, Hunter added, “Has Budgie arrived?”
“Five minutes ago,” the Constable answered. “We’ve sent for the doctor, but he hasn’t arrived yet.”
Hunter was just about to ask if CSI had been informed, when he remembered where they were, and as he once more looked out to sea, he knew there was no chance of them getting here today. This was a unique situation. It was time to improvise, he told himself.
He made his way through the archway into the other section of the bay. Here, the horseshoe beach met with a sheer face escarpment of dark rock, and the noise of the sea being whipped up echoed from it, making it sound even more thunderous. Up close to the cliff face, where he saw there had been a rockfall, Budgie and two other Constables were atop a huge boulder, looking behind it, their backs to him. He knew there was no point in shouting, so deafening was the sea, that he picked his way through the litter of large rocks and boulders to where the cops were gathered.
Budgie turned as Hunter started to clamber up the rock. It was wet and slippery, and Budgie reached down to give him a hand up. “The body’s down behind here. The face is a bit of a mess, but it certainly looks like our man.”
Hunter joined the trio, and on hands and knees, securing himself, he peered over the large stone. Four feet below was the corpse, pinned between the boulder and the shale from the rockfall. One arm was misshapen; it clearly looked as though it was broken in several places, and the head, as well as being badly bloodied and battered, was at an awkward angle to the body. And, although not all of his face could be seen, there was enough on display for Hunter to recognise the weaselly features of the man he’d seen at the Bel Air Inn. He was dressed in a black fleece jumper and jeans that clung to his wet body.
Hunter pointed to the loose shale and then up the escarpment. “Did he fall when the cliff gave way?”
Budgie shook his head. “The rock fall is not fresh. It happened last winter. And he’s come down from the top all right, but my guess he’s been thrown over. There’s a sign up there warning of the landslide, and it’s actually a fairly steep decline to the edge. It’s quite dangerous, and it’s more likely he was dragged so far and then rolled over the edge. We’ll need to check that out.”
“So, given what you’ve just said, the most likely scenario is that he was attacked after he answered the door at the cottage, and killed or at least rendered unconscious there, and then whoever did it got him up to the top of the cliffs above us and rolled him over the edge.”
“That certainly sounds right,” said Budgie, nodding. “And it’s my guess they did this at night, when the tide was in. Probably hoping the body would be washed out to sea, but instead it got wedged behind this rock.”
“What about the barman at The Stocks?”
“I spoke with the manager this morning. He was definitely sick yesterday. The manager called in personally to see him. He told me he was sweating and throwing up when he saw him and called the doctor. The doc told him it looks like some sort of infection and prescribed him antibiotics. I’ve confirmed that with the doc.” Stroking the stubble on his chin, he eyed Hunter studiously. “Given what the doc’s said, I wouldn’t have thought he’d be in any fit state to do this. But the only way we’re going to be able to confirm that or not, is all down to CSI.” Pulling back his gaze and looking up to the threatening sky, he added, “And they’re certainly not going to be getting here today. There’s no chance of any boats leaving Guernsey harbour in this weather.”
Hunter replied, “We’re going to have to move the body, though. As you pointed out, it’s already been covered by the tide once, so some, maybe all forensics have already been compromised. We can’t afford to leave it here until CSI arrive. It could be days if this weather persists.”
Budgie acknowledged this with a sharp nod. “Absolutely. All we’re waiting for is the doc to get here, and once he’s done the official confirmation that he’s dead, we’ll get the body moved.”
“I’m guessing you don’t have a pathologist on the island?”
Budgie responded with a shake of his head. “If we need any post mortems done, and it’s very rare we do, we have to ship the body over to Guernsey. The last time we had anything like this was eighteen months ago, when we found a body at the bottom of the La Coupée — you know, the road that connects with Little Sark. It was suspicious at the time, but then we found a suicide note in his room at the hotel where he was staying. His wife had just left him.” Budgie shook his head again, a tinge of sadness in his face.
“Okay, well I think there’s one thing for certain: we can rule out suicide in this case, and finding our mystery man dumped here like this, and given what you’ve said about our Scottish barman friend, it’s certainly thrown a whole new light on what’s going on. And also, who else is involved? And who killed him? Is it Billy Wallace?” Hunter shrugged his shoulders, displaying a look of concern. “If Billy’s here, it’s imperative we find him before he finds us.”
Budgie levelled his eyes at Hunter. “I’ll put in a call straight away to Steve. He’s the farmer whose chalet you’re in. I’ve told you he’s also a Special on the island. I’ll arrange for someone to join him, and they can keep an eye on you in shifts. Finding Nicholas Strachan’s body means we can rule him out as the person who fired your cottage, so we need to be extra vigilant now.”
“That’d be very much appreciated. I’m not going to tell the family. They’ve gone through enough already. Especially my mum.”
Budgie nodded. “I agree. I’ll tell Steve, and whoever joins him, to keep a low profile.” As he pulled out his mobile, they heard the voice of someone shouting. Everyone turned to see the doctor making his way towards them.
By the time the doctor had completed his examination, and they had placed Nicholas Strachan’s corpse into a body bag and carefully hauled him out from his resting place, it was nearing dusk, and the storm that had held off for the two hours they had been there had finally crept in. Heavy, dark clouds hung over them, shutting out most of the light, and the rain mixed with the wind was producing a squall that was pelting them all with a fury. As exposed as they were, there was no escaping the rain; Hunter’s jacket, which had come from the charity bag Budgie had brought, was soaked through, and he could hardly feel his hands as he helped carry the body bag up the steps to the doctor’s waiting tractor and trailer.
As Hunter watched the tractor lumber away, he shivered. He hadn’t been as cold as this in a long while, and his thoughts were on one thing — getting back to the cabin, peeling off his wet clothes, taking a hot shower and lying in front of the log fire with a glass of whisky. Before that, though, he knew they had to check out this theory as to how Nicholas’s body had got down to the bay.
Budgie sent the Specials back to the office, ensuring one of them went with the doctor, who was transporting Nicholas Strachan’s body, while he and Hunter went up to Hogsback.
The going was heavy, the ground sodden and boggy, and the wind was even more fierce, but once up there, they found partial heel marks — the sign that someone had clearly dragged Nicholas’s body — though the weather conditions were starting to erase the imprints. Hunter knew that after another twelve hours of this, there would be nothing left for forensics to examine. He studied the scene for a moment and saw that the cliffs fell away quite treacherously, just like Budgie had mentioned. He couldn’t even make out the edge from where he was standing. He tried to visualise Nicholas being dragged and rolled over the edge. How the man’s life had ended.
Wiping smears of rain from his face, Hunter gave the area one last look. Daylight was fading fast. He knew there was nothing they could do here today, and he turned to Budgie, mou
th set tight. With a jerk of his head, he indicated they should go. As he set off back to the Emergency Station, a feeling of great frustration overcame him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
In joggers and hoodie Hunter stood on the porch of the log cabin, a mug of tea cradled in his hands, watching the curtain of rain fall before him, listening to it hiss as it hit the ground. The heavy rainfall through the night had caused light flooding around them, and the solid bank of grey cloud dominating the sky told him that there was no sign of it stopping anytime soon. He wondered if Billy Wallace was out there somewhere. Watching. Well, good luck to him. Hope he’s piss-wet through.
He knew that in the farmhouse fifty yards away two of the island cops were looking out for him and his family, and that reassured him. Nevertheless, once again, he hadn’t slept. Though surprisingly, he didn’t feel tired. The finding of Nicholas Strachan’s dead body had been something he hadn’t expected and had been the centre of his thoughts all night. This morning, when he turned up to meet with Budgie, the island would be conducting its first ever murder enquiry. And the island cop had already asked him to lead on it. Him, a DS, acting as Senior Investigating Officer. This would be unprecedented. He would need to call on all his training. Plus, he was going to have be resourceful, particularly given the lack of forensic or medical support available. At least for the time being.
He took a last swallow of his tea, slung the dregs to join the rain puddles and checked the time on his watch. He had to ring his boss and update her with yesterday’s find.
Dawn Leggate ended her call with Hunter and looked at the notes she’d scribbled during their conversation. She needed to contact John Reed urgently. He still hadn’t got back to her about the last two emails she had sent, and this latest information had taken matters up a notch.
Waiting for her computer to fire up, she thought about the advice she had just given Hunter, specifically regarding his new status as SIO. Had she been too condescending? She hoped not. She hadn’t intended it to come over that way. She knew from working with him these past eighteen months he was more than capable of running an investigation. She shook the negative thoughts from her head. Course she hadn’t. Hunter was professional enough to accept her words as guidance rather than questioning his skills. She was being too sensitive. This thing with her ex was still eating away at her. Making her feel vulnerable.
Her deliberations were interrupted by the appearance of her emails on the screen, and switching her train of thought she checked the status of the ones she had sent John. She saw he hadn’t even opened them. She rang his mobile. It would be quicker and easier speaking with him on this subject rather than sending another email.
John answered on the third ring. “Morning, Dawn.”
“Morning, John, sorry to disturb you. I’m guessing you’re busy, but I sent you two emails you haven’t responded to, and I’ve just been given some additional information that now makes them urgent.”
“Sorry, Dawn, I’ve hardly been in the office. Things have ratcheted up a notch regarding Billy. We’ve just managed to get some CCTV footage of him getting off a train at Motherwell two days ago. It looks like he came back up here following what he did down your way. We put in a call to Glasgow Airport an hour ago, and we now think that yesterday he got on a flight to Guernsey. We’re following that up as we speak.”
“How the hell has he managed that? I thought he was flagged?”
“That was my reaction as well when I heard. But first of all, we haven’t had that confirmed. I’m going to get confirmation, one way or the other, once the supervisor at the airport comes on duty. As soon as I hear, I’ll ring you.”
Dawn could sense the frustration in his words. She knew that someone at Border Control was in for an ear-bashing from John. Before she had time to comment, he was back on the line.
“Can you tell me over the phone about the emails you’ve sent? I’ll see if I can help. It’s going to be lunchtime at least before I get back in the office.”
Dawn relayed the content of the emails she had sent relating to Hunter’s sighting of the mystery man at the pub on Sark, followed by him being assaulted, and then their rented cottage being fired, explaining how Hunter and island cops had traced the stranger, who had initially provided a pseudonym of T. H. Law, but they now knew him to be someone called Nicholas Strachan from his passport details. Finally, she told him about the latest incident where they had found his body dumped on Dixcart Bay on the island.
She had only just got the last sentence out of her mouth when John responded, “Say that name again!”
She could sense an air of anxiousness in his voice. She repeated his name.
“Fuck me, Dawn!”
What he said next came as a complete shock.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Head down against the prevailing wind and rain, Hunter hurried along the road to the station. It was further than he’d thought, and he could already feel his chinos clinging wet to his legs. He hadn’t brought a suit. Chinos and a shirt were the most suitable attire he had in his wardrobe for his newly acquired role. The only other choice of clothing he had was jeans, and although nothing would have been said by anyone if he had worn his jeans, he wanted to give the right impression.
He felt his mobile buzz in his trouser pocket, and he had to slow his pace to retrieve it. The wetness of his chinos wasn’t helping. Tugging it free, he saw it was Dawn Leggate. “Morning, boss. To what do I owe this pleasure? Please give me good news. I could do with some. It’s absolutely chucking it down here. It’s worse than Yorkshire weather,” he ended with mirth.
It wasn’t good news she relayed. In fact, what she told him brought him to a standstill. His head went into a tail-spin as he ended the call, and for a moment he stood in a trance, trying to comprehend what his boss had just said.
Hunter was soaked by the time he entered the station. Even his expensive leather brogues had let in water, and he felt cold and bothered as he climbed the stairs up to the Constable’s Office.
Budgie and six Constables were waiting for him, and he felt their buzz the moment he entered, instantly lifting his spirit. He took in every expression of expectancy and enthusiasm they greeted him with, returning it with his own. Budgie looked to be the most excited of them all. His face was lit up like a child in a toyshop. He was holding out a marker pen, pointing it over Hunter’s shoulder, and Hunter turned his eyes to the whiteboard Budgie was targeting. He instantly spotted it had been wiped clean, recalling how on his previous visit here it had been littered with telephone numbers and contact details of individuals. Now there were six A5 size colour photographs. Four of them were of their victim, Nicholas Strachan. One of them was the head and shoulders image captured by CCTV at the Bel Air Inn, and the other three were different shots of his body at Dixcart Bay before it was recovered. Hunter had requested that Budgie take them on his mobile because of the absence of CSI. The remaining two were from the cottage Nicholas had rented. The first was a full front view, and the second a close up of the bloodstain with the footprint in it on the flooring beside the front door.
Hunter studied them a second before taking the pen from Budgie, scribing Nicholas Strachan’s name below the head and shoulders photograph and facing his team. “Morning, everyone. Like you, this a first for me. Not my first murder investigation of course, but acting as SIO it is, and on that note, Budgie, have you contacted CID at Guernsey and filled them in?”
“I have. I spoke with a DS yesterday evening, and told him what we’d got, and just before eight last night a DI rang me to clarify everything. He knows the weather is an issue for getting across to us, and he rang me an hour ago to say the forecast was shocking for the next couple of days and asked if we could hold the fort until he could get his team across. I told him the resources we’d got here and I also told him about your background. He was more than happy with that. The one thing good thing about this is that if no one can get to us, then whoever killed Nicolas Strachan also isn’t goi
ng to be able to get away. He told me they would be putting together a team this morning and that the moment there’s a suitable break in the weather, they’ll be setting off.”
“Okay, that’s good. But for now, this rests on our shoulders, and I don’t know about you, but it would be nice to have this wrapped up and a prisoner in the cell before they get here.”
“It’d certainly be a feather in our caps,” Budgie responded.
Hunter saw the officers responding to Budgie’s comments with an eager nod. “Right, and on that positive note we’ll crack on with briefing.” He took a deep breath and pursing his lips said, “I also got a phone call this morning from my boss. As you know, I’d already passed on the passport details of Nicholas Strachan and sent the CCTV photo to see if we had any record of him, and…” Pausing for a moment, Hunter studied the officers’ faces, then continued, “It appears that Nicholas Strachan was an undercover cop.” He halted again, noting the shock in all their faces. “Apparently, he was sent by Glasgow Police to covertly monitor things at this end, and report back with any intelligence or information. My boss reassures me it wasn’t to undermine anything we were doing, but because the Scottish Police had put in an official request to send a team over to assist with capturing Billy Wallace, and Guernsey hadn’t responded, so they decided to send over someone who was experienced in undercover work.” Hunter paused again. “Now we know why he used a pseudonym — ironically T. H. Law, as in ‘The Law.’” He saw a couple reveal a wan smile and returned his own — a light moment to a sad event. He continued, “It would appear that three days ago Nicholas made a telephone call to a DS, who I know, up in Scotland, telling him that he was monitoring someone on the island who he believed might be a link to Billy.”
Hunted: A psychotic killer is out for revenge... (THE DS HUNTER KERR INVESTIGATIONS Book 6) Page 17
