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

by Michael Fowler

  Beth nodded, rousing Jonathan with a firm ruffle of his hair. He blearily opened his eyes. “Come on, young man, bedtime,” she said.

  Jonathan gave a gentle moan and stretched.

  Beth pulled the throw off them and began folding it. “Do you mind if I sleep with him tonight?”

  “Not at all. It might be best, to be honest.”

  She approved with a nod. “I’ll stick my head round your mum and dad’s door and see your dad’s all right before I go get my head down.”

  “Okay.” As Hunter headed into the kitchen, an image of Jock lying bleeding in the tunnel of the Window in the Rock burst into his brain, dragging back the awful memories from earlier. When he had rushed and grabbed hold of Jonathan, after Billy had fallen, and then turned and seen Jock lying there, believing him to be dead — that Billy had shot him — he had initially panicked, blood rushing to his head, fighting for breath. But then, after what had seemed like an eternity, Jock had stirred, flashing open his eyes and crying out in pain. Hunter had been so thankful that his quick prayer had been answered.

  By the time Budgie and two others had got to them, Jock was sitting up, holding his arm, and a quick examination revealed that although he had a nasty wound to his arm, it wasn’t life-threatening or life-changing. He was quickly transported by ambulance to the medical centre, where the doctor discovered that one of the bullets, most probably the one that had ricocheted from the roof, had nicked the top of his left arm. He had been extremely lucky, and seven stitches later, although visibly shaken, he was as almost good as new. Dosed up with painkillers, he was now tucked up in bed.

  Billy wasn’t, though. They had only been able to do a cursory search because of the conditions and darkness, aiming their torches down the way he’d gone, but there had been no sign of him. They had all come to the conclusion, after he had not answered their calls, that the likelihood was that Billy had met his fate on the rocks at the bottom of the 150-foot drop. No one had displayed any sorrow as they’d decided to call off the search until daybreak. The only thing Hunter had felt sorry about, as he had trooped away, was how all of it was going to affect Jonathan. From the second when he had gathered Jonathan up in his arms and felt his fragile frame trembling as they’d walked away from The Window in the Rock, he hadn’t been able to shake off that feeling of utter despair.

  Rinsing his glass, staring out through the kitchen window into darkness, Hunter recalled what Beth had said earlier about how kids could be more resilient than adults. In Jonathan’s case, he certainly hoped so.

  Hunter was awoken by the ring of his mobile. Rolling over, he snatched it up from the bedside table. He looked at the screen before answering. It was Budgie. He answered.

  “The cavalry are on their way,” he said excitedly.

  “What?”

  “The storm broke early this morning. I’ve just taken a call from the Ops Room Inspector on Guernsey. They’ve commandeered the Lifeboat and one of the ferries and half of Guernsey’s police force are on the way over here. Should be with us in forty minutes.”

  “Too bloody late now,” Hunter replied sleepily.

  Budgie chuckled. “We don’t want to be telling them that. They think they’re coming to our rescue.”

  Tutting loudly, Hunter said, “Talking about rescue, anything about Billy?”

  “Nope. Not so far, anyway. I’m at The Window now. A couple of us got down here at first light and started looking for him. We used the old winch that’s here. Fastened a rope to it, and one of the lads went down right to the bottom, but there’s no sign of him. The tide would have been in last night, so it looks like he’s drowned and been washed out to sea. We’re going to have to wait for the Lifeboat to get here so we can do a proper search, but with the currents round here, and how rough the sea was last night, he could have been dragged for miles. We might never find his body.”

  “Well, I have to say, I’ll not be shedding a tear at his passing.”

  “Neither will I, mate.”

  “With everyone coming from Guernsey, do you need me to come and join you?”

  “I wouldn’t. You just stay put. You’ve got enough on your hands. They’re going to want to speak with you, obviously, but they’re going to be tied up at the Window for a good few hours. And they’ve got to deal with Hazel Brown.”

  “Crikey, I’d forgotten about her.”

  “She’s been in a cell in the old prison since we locked her up. I’m told she’s not a happy bunny this morning. The place is freezing. Oh, and by the way we found a hammer covered in blood secreted among the woodpile at the back of the cottage she’s renting. It looks as though we can nail her for killing Nicholas Strachan.”

  “Great. That’s good news. It’s nice to know she’ll soon be in a nice warm cell across in Guernsey.”

  “Certainly will. So, as I say, the team have got enough to be going on with for now. It’s my guess they’ll not have enough time to speak with any of you today. It’ll give you some breathing space at least. I’ll give the briefing to whichever gaffer comes with them and help with things down here.”

  “Thanks, Budgie, that’s great.” Following a short pause, Hunter said, “I’m concerned about Jonathan.”

  “I know what you’re saying. Look, leave it with me. I’ll tell them he’s too shook up, given the circumstances, and he’s probably going to need at least a couple of days. There’s you and your dad they can talk to for now to get what happened.”

  “That’d be great. I’ll make myself available for them, just in case they do have time today, and I’ll have a word with Dad when he wakes up. I’m going to send Jonathan and Beth across to her mum and dad’s place, just to keep him out of the way for now.”

  “I understand. Leave it with me to sort. I’ll keep you up to date.”

  “Cheers.”

  “And I’ll see you all tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “The Festival of Light. Had you forgotten? They’re not going to cancel that, no matter what’s gone off. It’s one of the highlights of the island. There’s a couple of hundred guests paid good money to be part of it. We’ll have a riot on our hands if we cancel it.” Pausing, Budgie added, “Saying that, if we did cancel it, there’s enough cops here now to deal with a riot.” Following a short burst of laughter, Budgie ended the call.

  Later that day, as the sun started to set, Hunter, Beth, the boys, and both sets of parents joined the large gathering in the square at the end of the village, where the horse and carriage rides normally parked. Hunter guessed, from the numbers squashed together, that most of the islanders were here. He kept looking round for Budgie, or for any of the other Constables, but he couldn’t see any of them. He guessed they were still by the Window in the Rock, searching for any sign of Billy. During the day he’d heard the drumming rotors of a police helicopter and seen a glimpse of it flying overhead, but since that early morning call from Budgie he had not heard anything else about what was happening.

  Hunter’s thoughts were suddenly extinguished when a series of “Oohs” and “Aahs” went up, and then he found himself being forced to one side by the momentum of the crowd around him. As the crowd parted, he got his first picture of what the Festival of Light was all about as he caught sight of a procession of about fifty people marching towards them along the street. Each of the group held aloft a flaming torch, casting a warm orange glow all around. They turned left in unison onto the track to Hogsback, and everyone started to shuffle and press forward, and Hunter soon found himself being dragged along by the crowd, following the torch-bearers. Ten minutes later, tramping along a familiar route, this time in better circumstances, Hunter and his family entered the wide expanse of Hogsback. The majority were heading to where the huge bonfire had been constructed, but a small group of a dozen or so branched away to where the stones of Sark Henge overlooked the sea.

  The next minute, Hunter found himself forced back as the crowd reacted to a loud whooshing noise, and a wall of heat reached him th
rough the throng, as gouts of yellow and orange flame shot above them, sending sparks into the night sky. The bonfire had been lit, the spectacle greeted by shouts of delight. Breaking into a smile, Hunter turned to Beth beside him. The radiance from the fire was lighting up her face, and for the first time he saw relief and contentment etched on her features. Seeing that made him feel so much better.

  A hand on his shoulder startled him, and he spun around. It was Budgie.

  “Made it, then?” Budgie said, pointing towards the bonfire. “Good, isn’t it?”

  Over Budgie’s shoulder, Hunter spotted the group of people who had earlier made their way towards Sark Henge. They were now inside the circle of stones, thrusting hands to the sky in worship. “They’re certainly enjoying themselves,” Hunter replied, dipping his head.

  Budgie glanced around to the Henge. “It’s what a lot come for. Same with Stonehenge, I guess.”

  Hunter nodded thoughtfully. As Budgie returned his gaze, they locked eyes. “How many of the islanders know what’s gone off?”

  “Everyone, I would have thought. You’re quite the celebrities, you know. This will be a conversation piece for years.” Budgie let out a chuckle. “But just setting aside all the horrors you’ve experienced this last ten days, this is still a beautiful island, don’t you think?”

  Hunter thought for a moment and then had to agree.

  ***

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  A NOTE TO THE READER

  Dear Reader,

  It was only a matter of time before the island of Sark featured as a setting in one of my novels. The idea has been inside my head since the Autumn of 1973 when I first heard about it. Back then, as a fifteen-year-old with a dream to be a writer, I frequently visited my Uncle Gordon who was a lover of books with a wonderful imagination for writing, and in front of a blazing coal fire, with only a side light on, we discussed plots, characters and the drafting of a story. One of those discussions centred upon a book I had just read - Agatha Christie’s ‘And then there were none’ (different title back then) especially its setting on a remote island. It was on that note he brought up Sark, filling me in on its history, and how it had no recognised roads, with only horse and cart for transport and no street lamps. At the time, although it was fascinating information, I can remember thinking he was stretching his imagination a little too far. I revisited the thought of using the island 40 years later when I began writing after retirement, and to my surprise I discovered that with the exception that it now had street lamps in its main street the rest of what he had told me was true. However, the opportunity to use it as a location didn’t come until the writing of this book; what better location to have Hunter and his family flee to in fear of their lives from a psychopath on the run. I tried to get a feel for the place using Google Earth but somehow it just didn’t work, and so in September 2018 I paid the island a visit, whizzing off a couple of emails prior to going there, enquiring through the island’s Information Centre if there was anyone I could speak with to aid my research. I got several replies including one from the island’s only cop ‘Budgie’ Burgess, who not only answered my queries on police procedure but volunteered to show me around and introduce me to some of the islanders. I had a wonderful five days there, visited almost every part of the island and came back home with the story firmly cemented in my thoughts. Without doubt, once this pandemic is over, I will be visiting the island again.

  Before I close, I would like to express my gratitude to ‘Budgie’ who gave me a great insight into the policing of the island, how its Parliament works, and for his tour of the Emergency Services HQ. The joined-up practices of the Police, Fire and Ambulance Service there is something our Government should be looking at.

  I also thank Beta-readers Claire Knight and Lesley Merrin for their comments.

  Note: The Festival of Light does not exist. I created it for the sole purpose of this story.

  This is now the sixth book in the series and I hope you have embraced Hunter Kerr and his casework enough to want read more. The next investigation is Unsolved. One of the ways you can let me know is by placing a review on Amazon or Goodreads. And, if you want to contact me, or want me to appear and give a talk about my writing journey at one of the groups you belong to, then please do so through my website. It has recently been updated and there are some interesting blogs about writing and Hunter Kerr.

  Thank you for reading.

  Michael Fowler

  www.mjfowler.co.uk

  ALSO BY MICHAEL FOWLER

  Hunter (A DS Hunter Kerr Prequel)

  DS HUNTER KERR SERIES:

  Heart of the Demon

  Cold Death

  Secrets of the Dead

  Coming, Ready or Not

  Shadow of the Beast

  Unsolved

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I would like to express my gratitude to all those who have given their time to help me complete this book, especially to Sark Island Cop ‘Budgie’ Burgess, who gave me great insight into the policing of the island, how its Parliament works, and for his tour of the Emergency Services HQ. The joint working practices of the Police, Fire and Ambulance services are something the UK Government should be looking to.

  I also thank beta-readers Claire Knight and my wife Liz for their experienced sharp-eyed comments.

  Finally, thanks to everyone at Sapere Books. What a great bunch of guys.

  Published by Sapere Books.

  20 Windermere Drive, Leeds, England, LS17 7UZ,

  United Kingdom

  saperebooks.com

  Copyright © Michael Fowler, 2020

  Michael Fowler has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this work.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events, other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.

  Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales are purely coincidental.

  eBook ISBN: 9781800551145