He had come here at this late hour because he couldn’t settle. He’d left Grace and the others celebrating in Wadebridge. He’d had a couple of beers with them, but as he’d finished the second pint he’d realised he wasn’t in the mood to celebrate.
For years he had dreamed that this day would be different – that he’d be ecstatic – knowing that someone was finally going to answer for Polly’s murder, but now that day had arrived he felt nothing like that.
He began to watch the waves again. Suddenly his mobile went, making him jump. He pulled it out of his jacket pocket and looked at the screen. It was Detective Superintendent Leggate.
He’d been trying half the night to get hold of her but her phone had been switched off.
He answered, ‘Evening, boss.’
‘Apologies, Hunter. I can see you’ve been trying to get hold of me. You wouldn’t believe the night I’ve had. Anyway, enough of my problems. You’ve heard we’ve arrested Dale Moore?’
‘Yeah, Bully rang me a couple of hours ago from the hospital. His girlfriend was just going into theatre. How is she?’
‘Fine – thanks to you, Hunter. The knife missed her vital organs. She’s had quite a few stitches, and she’s going to have a nasty scar, but she’s going to be fine.’ She paused and then said, ‘It’s a good job you recognised who was in the photo Dale sent Scott, otherwise Linane might not be here now. Your phone call saved her life, Hunter.’
He smiled.
Dawn Leggate continued, ‘How have you got on with Scott? Has he talked?’
‘No, not said a thing. Three interviews they’ve had with him. But to be honest, boss, it doesn’t really matter. We’ve recovered enough evidence down here to link him to most of the murders and a couple of the Richmond attacks. What about Dale?’
‘He’s saying bugger all as well. But like Scott it doesn’t matter. We’ve got him with the mask and we’ve got him for the attempt murder on Linane. I’m guessing it’s the same knife as the one he used on Elisabeth Bertolutti so he’s not going anywhere other than jail. We’ve got them both bang to rights and they’re going away for the rest of their natural.’ Pausing, she added, ‘What have you got left to do down there?’
‘There’s not much else me and Grace can do. We’re going to give our statements to the team down here and then set off back tomorrow. The Wadebridge lot are going to sort out the charges and the remand file for Scott.’
‘Okay, good. Well done again, Hunter. I’ll see you two when you get back tomorrow. And now, I’ve got a not too happy husband to sort out who’s locked up in our cells.’
‘Your husband’s locked up?’
‘Long story, Hunter. I’ll tell you about it when you get back.’
She ended the call.
Hunter stared at the phone’s screen for a few seconds. Then he shrugged his shoulders and slotted it back in his trouser pocket.
Dropping his gaze he spied a flat pebble at his feet. He bent down, picked it up and weighed it in his hand. Then glancing up he skimmed it into the incoming tide. It bounced once and then disappeared beneath the surf.
Shifting his gaze out to sea he hoped that Polly’s haunting memory would disappear as quick.
- ooOoo –
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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