* * * * *
In the Three Cranes public house, feeling as gloomy as his surroundings, Hunter Kerr sat alone at a table nursing an almost full glass of Wards Best Bitter. He had been holding onto his beer for the best part of a quarter of an hour and so far had only taken the head off it. If truth be known he hadn’t the stomach for a drink. Inside he was seething. He had been continuously re-running the day’s events inside his head and wondering what on earth had just happened.
The sudden clattering open of the pub’s front doors, followed by the jabbering of excited voices broke him out of his reverie. He glanced up to see Meredied Thomas, smartly garbed in a dark, expensive-looking, pinstripe suit, making a grand entrance through the double-doors. Flanking him either side were two much younger, fresh-faced, similar suited men.
Meredied stopped in mid-stride and met Hunter’s ‘if-looks-could-kill’ gaze. He flashed him a fake smile. A perfect set of white teeth appeared - a sharp contrast against the Barrister’s deep-tanned complexion. He said something to one of the young men beside him who flashed Hunter a swaggering grin. Then nudging the pair, and cocking his head towards the bar, they sharply left his side and scooted away. Meredied ambled towards Hunter.
“Didn’t expect to see you here detective.”
“I’m waiting for my lift to come.” Hunter’s piercing blue eyes remained locked onto the QC’s.
“No hard feelings?”
Hunter leaned back in his seat. “I don’t know how you can sleep at night.”
“Very well actually Officer.”
“That was a farce back there and you know it.”
“No I don’t know it. Justice was served today.”
Hunter released his pint glass and pushed it towards the centre of the table. He’d gone right off his beer. “That wasn’t justice. All I’ve witnessed today is that you’ve got a guilty man off. A guilty man, who is a dangerous individual, and who will be back out on the streets tonight, waiting for his opportunity to attack another innocent woman. You are so self-obsessed with maintaining your reputation that you’re obviously not bothered about the consequences.”
“What happened in that court room today wasn’t my fault, Officer. I work to the law and you know that.”
“And we all know what they say about the law. That decision today has proved that.”
“We’re clearly not going to see eye-to-eye on this Officer, so I’ll bid you a good day.”
With that Meredied Thomas peeled away towards the bar.
* * * * *
Nathan Hyde had tucked himself into an alleyway in one of the side streets not too far away from the town centre. He was close enough to listen to the raucous cries of the Friday night revellers, which echoed around the busy streets, and yet not too close to be picked up again by CCTV or the suspicious eyes of cops. Pressing himself against the cold brickwork he stared nervously around and not for the first time. He had spent the last hour roaming the outskirts of the town centre, watching and searching, especially avoiding being seen. Then ten minutes ago from his hiding place he had spotted his next victim. She was walking slowly away from the bus station, mobile pressed close to her face, speaking animatedly. Although he couldn’t make out the precise nature of what she was saying, because of the distance between them, he could pick out the regular notes of frustration in her voice. Her conversation lasted less than a couple of minutes, and then she ended her call and placed her phone into her clutch bag. After a few moments of glancing around she picked up her pace and clip-clopped towards him in her four-inch heels.
A tremor wracked his body. His heart began to flutter and a rushing noise invaded his ears.
She was certainly more beautiful than his last. Slim and petite, her long dark hair was bunched back from her heavily made-up face, revealing a small, slightly turned-up nose and a cherry-red pouting mouth.
Nathan pressed himself further into the shadows and watched her walk past the entranceway. For a few seconds he held his breath and listened. Then pulling on a pair of gloves and peeling his woollen ski-mask down over his face he stepped softly out into the street.
* * * * *
Meredied Thomas checked his watch, gave his office a final look-over, set the alarm, switched off the lights and locked up. Still in buoyant mood he made his way down the metal fire escape into the rear yard and skipped towards his car. His Jaguar was the only vehicle parked; everyone else had gone home hours ago but he’d had to go through some important case papers for the following week’s trial. He had a young mugger to defend.
Popping the door-locks he jumped into his car. The windscreen was misted over. He wasn’t going anywhere quickly. He turned over the engine and flicked on the demister. As it kicked in he pushed himself back into the plush leather upholstery and reflected on his day. It had been a good one, he thought, and he knew that in another twenty minutes he would be finishing it off with a cooked meal and a decent bottle of wine back home; an hour and half earlier his wife had texted him, informing him she had just put a joint of lamb in the oven.
As he watched his view ahead becoming ever clearer he recalled the conversation he’d had with her prior to leaving for work that morning. She had told she was going to spend the day with their eldest daughter, Sophie, shopping in Meadowhall. As he pressed the button on his steering column, switching the car radio across to CD player, he wondered how much that expedition would have cost him. As the opening track of Phil Collins ‘But Seriously’ album sparked up he smiled to himself.
Never mind, plenty more where that came from. After all, I am a successful lawyer.
Engaging gear, he was about to set off when his mobile rung. Fishing around in his coat pocket, he excavated his phone and clamped it to his ear. He hadn’t even had to time to answer before his wife came on the line.
“Hi love, it’s me. Have you set off yet?”
“Just about to, I’ve just got in the car.”
“Oh good, I’m glad I’ve caught you before you’ve set off. Can you make a detour?”
“Why, do you need something picking up?”
“Not something – Someone. I dropped Sophie off in town. She wanted to meet up with some friends. She’s just rung me. They’re going onto a party but she can’t be bothered, so she’s coming home early. She’s tried to get the bus, but she’s just missed it, and there’s not another one for an hour, so I’ve told her to walk to your office. She’s heading towards you. Can you pick her up?”
“Yeah, fine. No problem. See you soon.” He ended the call and dropped the phone onto the passenger seat. Then he headed for the car park exit.
It was only a five minute drive to the edge of town and Meredied could see that the traffic was light. He was about to pick up speed when his attention was grabbed by the ululating wail of a siren behind him. He darted a glance to his rear view mirror and snatched sight of flashing blue lights heading towards him with the speed of an Exocet missile. He felt his stomach turn-turtle and caught his breath. For a split-second the thought entered his head that this was the detective’s way of exacting revenge – that in the next few seconds he would be getting a request to pull over and be breathalysed. He tried to remember when he’d had his last drink. He’d had three pints since court, but that had been hours ago, and since then he’d drank a few coffees and munched on a couple of biscuits. Surely he must be within the limit, he told himself.
The gap between himself, and the police car behind was ever narrowing, and he eased off the accelerator and drifted towards the kerb, waiting for the inevitable.
But as the patrol car pulled alongside he realised its pace wasn’t easing off. In fact he felt his Jaguar rock as it shot past. Ten seconds later he lost sight of it as it disappeared around a bend. Heaving a sigh of relief, Meredied gently toed the accelerator and headed towards the town centre.
A few minutes later, swinging right out of a junction, away from traffic lights, he was forced to brake sharply. A bacchanalian scene faced him. The street was awash wit
h flashing blue lights. Emergency vehicles of all descriptions littered the street. Friday-night revellers were milling with police officers and he immediately thought that it must be the aftermath of a drunken fight.
He hoped Sophie had not got caught up in it.
A uniformed police officer trotted towards him and he wound down his window.
“What’s going on?” he shouted, sticking his head through the gap. A blast of wind stung his face. He recoiled back into the warmth of his car.
The policewoman stopped beside the door, dropped her stance and levelled her face to meet his. “I’m afraid you can’t come through sir, we’re dealing with an incident.”
“Yeah I can see that. What’s happened?” He broke away his gaze and began sweeping his eyes around the scene.
“A young woman’s been attacked,” the police woman replied.
A wave of panic swept over him. Frantically, he darted his gaze in between the gaps of the merging crowd and the emergency vehicles, and that was when he spotted it - laying in the gutter, surrounded by a pool of dark coloured liquid, that was thick and congealed - Sophie’s coat.
Meredied’s head began to pound. He felt his chest tighten.
To his right sudden activity at the periphery of his vision grabbed his attention. He whipped his gaze in its direction and caught sight of two burly police officers struggling with someone at the entrance way of a darkened alley. As the prisoner’s head was yanked up he recognised who it was. Being rough-handled into handcuffs was Nathan Hyde.
...END...
If you liked this Caffeine Nights Short Short, Michael Fowler has written two D.S Hunter Kerr Novels, ‘Heart of the Demon’ and ‘Cold Death’. Both books are available in paperback and eBook formats from all leading stores. As a taster we have included the prologue and first chapter of ‘Heart of the Demon’ for your enjoyment.
Caffeine Nights Publishing
HEART OF
THE DEMON
The classic first novel in the
DS Hunter Kerr series.
Michael Fowler
Fiction aimed at the heart
and the head...
Published by Caffeine Nights Publishing 2012
Copyright © Michael Fowler 2012
Michael Fowler has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998 to be identified as the author of this work.
CONDITIONS OF SALE
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, scanning, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.
This book has been sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
Published in Great Britain by Caffeine Nights Publishing
www.caffeine-nights.com
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN: 978-1-907565-27-4
Cover design by
Mark (Wills) Williams
Everything else by
Default, Luck and Accident
PREFACE
Heart of the Demon, is the first novel featuring the central characters Detective Sergeant Hunter Kerr and his working partner DC Grace Marshall.
It was originally published in paperback in October 2010.
This latest edition is a revised version of the original novel.
MICHAEL FOWLER
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
This one is for Liz who has always been a part of my dreams
Acknowledgements
My gratitude goes out to all those who have given up their time to bring this work to fruition, in particular Alan Twiddle who read the original manuscript, and the first published edition and gave me invaluable advice which enabled me to make this revised version stronger.
To Stuart Sosnowski, Crime Scene Supervisor, South Yorkshire Police who helped me with my crime scene forensics.
To Margaret Ardron and Janet Williamson who gave me expert guidance and critique on the original manuscript.
To the Rawmarsh Writers Group who continually encouraged me to deliver.
And finally to Darren Laws, of Caffeine Nights Publishing, who made it all possible.
Heart of the Demon
PROLOGUE
25th July 1988.
Gripping one shoulder firmly, with a quick sawing movement he began to slice into the first layer of flesh with the curved edge of the blade.
Tough little bastard.
He had thought that it would be easy to separate the head from the body with the Bowie knife he had recently acquired. However, the neck tissues and sinews were far tougher than he expected and he had to drag the blade repeatedly against the leathery skin. As the knife finally tore into the vertebrae, drops of warm sticky blood splattered his hands and his clothing.
Not such a tough little bastard now, are you?
He had hoped to torture the creature a lot longer but it had brought about its own death much quicker than he had wanted.
A little earlier, he had chuckled whilst watching the rabbit’s brown eyes almost bulge from its sockets as he had twisted the leather leash tighter around its neck. His own heart had pumped so fast he feared it would burst through his chest and it had felt as if his head was ready to explode.
The rush had been an almost unbelievable experience and had made him exert even more pressure on the leash. That’s when the tough little bastard dug those buckteeth into his clenched fist, drawing blood - his own blood. He’d almost released his grip on the thrashing rabbit nearly allowing it to escape. In a flash of anger, which he later cursed himself for, he had grabbed its twitching back legs, swung it around and smashed its fluffy head against a tree stump.
That had put paid to the life of the New Zealand dwarf.
Sarah is going to be really pissed off when she finds her pet gone. High-faluting Sarah, with her lispy posh voice who thinks she’s a cut above the others on the street. Yes she is really going to be pissed when she finds her little ‘Bob-Tail’ gone. Little Bob-Tail, with its posh imitation jewelled collar, which she walked around her garden - on a leash, of all things.
He had listened to her repeatedly clucking her tongue against the roof of her mouth and shouting for ‘Bob-Tail’ to come for his ‘din-dins’. It really irritated him. Many a time he had wanted to rip that clucking tongue right out of her snooty little mouth. Luckily for her she lived too near. She didn’t realise just how fortunate she was.
She won’t be acting so highfaluting when she finds her dear little ‘Bob-Tail’ in pieces. Spoilt little brat.
* * * * *
12th October 1993
He drew heavily on the cigarette he had pinched from his mother’s packet; the packet which was always tucked between the cushion and arm of ‘her’ chair. He had been hiding in the bushes for over half an hour and had a good view of the front doors of the bloc
k of flats when he spotted the regular visitor lock up and leave his car in the unlit car park.
He took a final drag on his cigarette, flicked the remains to the floor and ground it underfoot. Glancing quickly at his watch, and knowing that this guest would be at least another hour and a half, he put on a pair of leather gloves and moved slowly from the bushes towards the Ford Fiesta. Taking half a tennis ball from his jacket pocket, he placed it over the lock on the driver’s door and with a quick bang forced out the air. The suction made the plastic locking mechanism shoot up and the door opened without a sound. He forced a screwdriver into the ignition barrel, turning the handle as he would a key. The car’s engine fired first time and taking a final look around he slid into the driver’s seat. As he reversed a smile ripped across his face. No doubt about it the CID officer was going to be well and truly pissed off when he came out of that flat.
* * * * *
Head bowed from hunched shoulders, jaw resting between his hands, elbows on desk, Hunter Kerr chewed on the end of his pen whilst double-checking the contents of his most exciting arrest file to date. This was the most tedious part of the job but also the most important and being on the evening shift helped his concentration. It meant a virtually empty office; no incessant chatter or the ringing of phones to distract him.
Momentarily closing his eyes he massaged his eyelids and pushed himself back in his chair. Wiping away the tiredness overcoming him he forced them open and re-focussed on the document on his computer screen. Then clicking back into gear he commenced tip-tapping the keyboard, putting the finishing touches to the arrest summary.
Reap What You Sow: From the case files of D.S. Hunter Kerr (Caffeine Nights Short Shots Book 1) Page 2
