Hunter pushed his way to the bar half listening to the end of Mike’s joke. He knew it was these moments that bonded a team.
On his way he spotted Paul Goodright tucked into a corner, hunched over a beer, rubbing a hand over his shaven head. He was alone.
He made a mental note to have some time with him once he had got himself a drink. He had not seen him since the shooting.
He ordered a pint and then sauntered across to his old colleague.
“How’re we feeling?” Hunter asked, sliding onto a seat opposite. Paul’s head shot up. He’d obviously been lost in his thoughts ruminated Hunter.
“Not too bad – had better days.”
He made a brave attempt to crack a smile, but Hunter could see it was half-hearted.
“Glad it’s over?”
“You bet.” He pushed himself back against his seat. His squat muscular frame stretched his black T-shirt.
Hunter could remember when Paul had been a very slim twenty-something detective with a full head of hair. That’s when the memories tumbled into his head. He would never have guessed that the decisions he and Paul had made that fateful night on the 12th October 1993 would have brought about such tragic chain of events involving so many people. As the episodes had unfolded during the last few weeks he had questioned himself so many times. Should he have done anything different? He had found himself unable to answer. No doubt that would be one of many things he would dwell on over the next few weeks.
“Thanks to you the result is good though eh?”
Paul tightened his mouth, rested his strong bare forearms across the table and gripped the bottom of his glass. His beer had lost its head.
Hunter wondered how long he had been nursing it.
“You say that but it doesn’t really take away the feelings I have over what happened all those years ago. That psycho tore my life apart.” He fixed Hunter with his hazel eyes. “I thought that when I shot him it would have made me feel better but its already short lived. I still feel so responsible for what happened. If I hadn’t have gone off shagging that night this wouldn’t have happened.”
“Paul you’ve got to stop beating yourself up. You weren’t to know what was going to happen that night. People happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. You have to put it down to sheer fate. The guy was a killer – born and bred – full stop. There was nothing – and I repeat nothing you could have done about it.” Hunter pointed towards Paul’s flat beer. “Let me get you a fresh one you’ve earned it believe me. There will be a lot of people out there grateful for what you have done. Just think about all those parents of the girl’s he’s murdered for one. Secondly we won’t have the expense of a trial and the worry that some smart barrister will exploit a loophole or a jury will do an OJ Simpson and allow him to walk free.” Hunter drained his own beer then wiped the edges of his mouth. “I’d be honoured if you’d allow me to buy you a drink.”
Paul returned a weak smile. “Another beer would be great thanks.”
Hunter pushed himself up from his seat and edged through the throng once more towards the bar. He ordered another two pints of Timothy Taylor and returned to his old colleague.
He placed the beer in front of Paul and then raised his glass.
“Cheers.”
Paul picked up the pint. “Cheers”
Hunter took a swig. “I’m gonna get some fresh air in the garden. You’re more than welcome to join me but I’m going to have this and then disappear. I’m knackered. It’s been a long day.”
“No you get yourself off. I’m having this and then I’m going as well. Anyway I wouldn’t make good company at the moment. We’ll catch up some time eh?”
“You bet,” Hunter acknowledged with a quick nod and then spun away.
Easing himself past a couple blocking his way Hunter pushed open the French doors that led out into the garden. The sunlight momentarily blinded him and made him close his eyes for a second. Blinking them open, he realised that the earlier evening drizzle had given way to the beginnings of a spectacular sunset. The temperature had risen, although the air was still fresh from the rain. He leant against one of the wooden benches and took in all the smells of the surroundings. That burst of rain had invigorated the dryness in the landscape. He took another swallow of his second pint, casting a glance over the hedgerow at the bottom of the beer garden, towards a view of the countryside beyond. For the first time he realised the pub’s location gave him a clear view of the scene where this mayhem had first started five weeks ago. In the distance he could just make out the collection of old tumbledown farm buildings where Rebecca Morris’s body had been discovered. That find had started this whole roller coaster of events, uncovering the actions of a demented killer who had devastated the lives of seven innocent teenage girls and their families, and culminating in the abduction of Grace’s daughter – one of their own. It had made him realise just how vulnerable they could all be.
Yet somehow Hunter no longer had the appetite or indeed the energy to rejoice. It felt almost as if every last drop of adrenaline had been squeezed out of him. He was totally drained. The long days and sleepless nights had finally caught up with him. He’d only drunk one full pint, and a little of his second but he knew that had gone to his head.
He was so deep in thought that he jumped when the hand was placed on his shoulder. He jerked around quickly to be greeted by Barry Newstead’s beaming face.
“Penny for them Hunter.”
“Crikey Barry, you made me jump. I was somewhere else just then.”
“Thinking about Grace and Robyn?”
“Yes, them and Paul Goodright, and the families of the other victims.”
“Careful Hunter you’ll have someone thinking you’ve gone soft.”
They both cracked a grin.
“Anyway what are you doing out here?” enquired Hunter. “Why aren’t you celebrating with the others? That’s not like you? People will be talking that Barry Newstead is going on the wagon.”
Barry dug Hunter in the ribs. “I’m on a promise.”
Hunter widened his eyes. “My, my; we are a dark horse. Tell me more.”
“Sue Siddons.” Barry paused.
Hunter returned a pleased look.
He continued. “The enquiry got us back together, made us both realise what we had lost. Not just Carol, but years of friendship. She’s going to straighten herself out now that she’s got closure. She’s started going to AA meetings.”
Hunter patted Barry’s upper arm, gave him a reassuring look. “Hope it all goes well for you Barry. I really do, you deserve it. You’ve been a good ally to me on this investigation...”
Barry pulled him up short. “Getting soft again Hunter.” He winked and downed the remainder of his beer. Wiping the dregs from around his mouth with the back of one of his huge hands he said, “Fancy another?”
Hunter shook his head. He glanced at his watch. He knew at this time that Beth would be just getting the boy’s supper ready before their bedtime. He emptied his glass and set it down onto one of the wooden benches.
“No thanks Barry, that’s me done. I’m not even going to say goodbye to the team - I’m knackered. I just want to get home, put my feet up and watch the ten o’clock news for once.”
As he made for the side gate he already knew what he was going to do. It seemed to have been an eternity since he’d last had some R & R, even though they’d done a family holiday at half term in Minorca. He was going to book a cottage on the North East coast for Beth and the boy’s – at one of his favourite spots. He might even be able to smuggle along his paints.
- ooOoo –
Read the second book in the D.S. Hunter Kerr series
Cold Death
Taking a well-earned break from the ‘Dearne Valley Demon’ case, Detective Sergeant Hunter Kerr’s rest is suddenly shattered when he witnesses a violent argument involving his father, shortly followed by a murderous road-rage attack upon his parents.
As he delve
s deeper, Hunter uncovers disturbing facts and suspects that his father is harbouring a sinister secret from his past; a secret, which he is desperate to keep buried.
In his father’s native Scotland a sadistic and violent killer is on the rampage. Three retired detectives are found tortured and butchered. Is there a link? Or, is it someone who just likes killing cops?
Hunter pushes and pushes to learn the truth, never realising just how much danger he was placing himself, and those around him, in.
In Barnwell, Hunter’s working partner, DC Grace Marshall, recovering from her own psychological problems arising out of the ‘Demon’ serial-killer investigation, is ‘acting sergeant’ in his absence and soon finds herself in charge of her first major incident; a young woman’s battered body is dragged from the freezing waters of the local country park.
ISBN: 978-1-907565-28-1
About the Author
Michael was born and grew up in the once industrial heartland of South Yorkshire and still lives there with his wife and two sons.
He served as a police officer for thirty-two years, both in uniform and in plain clothes, working in CID, Vice Squad and Drug Squad, and retired as an Inspector in charge of a busy CID Department in 2006.
Aside from writing, his other passion is painting and as a professional artist he has achieved numerous accolades. His work can be found in numerous galleries throughout the UK.
He is a member of the Crime Writers Association.
Michael can be contacted via his website at: www.mjfowler.co.uk
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Heart of the Demon (D.S.Hunter Kerr) Page 25
