Unsolved

by Michael Fowler

  ‘We’ve managed to trace them. They’re back in Lithuania. Sure enough, they fled back home immediately after the appeal went out on TV, but they’ve told detectives that was only because they feared the British police would blame Rasa’s disappearance on them and lock them up in a British jail. The couple have admitted to bringing her into the country illegally but denied it was for prostitution, and the man has admitted to assaulting her but says it was because Rasa stole money from them. They’re currently locked up in prison for trafficking, and Mike and Tony are going over there next week to interview them.’

  ‘But didn’t you tell me that whoever abducted Rasa stuck tape over the lens of a security camera in the corridor so they couldn’t be seen and used the exit doors at the rear, where there are no cameras, to take her out?’

  ‘They did.’

  ‘Well, if that’s the case, why would this Luke Riley guy admit to going to her room and having sex with her if he’d gone to the trouble of covering the security cameras to avoid being seen?’

  ‘You’re talking with the converted, Hunter. A few of us have said that to the DCI, but he’s adamant we should be continuing to look at Luke Riley. He’s got some of the team running about all over the place, looking at his background and what he’s been up to since Rasa was taken.’

  ‘Do you know what? That’s exactly what I think has happened with the Bannister case Maddie and I are reviewing. He came up with the theory that the husband killed his wife over her infidelity, and then his daughter, and then committed suicide by driving into a river somewhere, and stuck with it without compromise, dismissing all other evidence that would challenge his assumption.’

  ‘You’re basically saying he’s a useless twat,’ Grace said with a dry look.

  Hunger sniggered. ‘I wasn’t going to use those words, Grace, but you’ve summed him up nicely.’

  They laughed, taking the moment to have a quick slurp of their drinks.

  Putting down her glass, Grace said, ‘So who’ve you in mind for Rasa’s disappearance and for sending you the note and doll?’

  ‘I think it could be Dylan Wolfe.’

  ‘I thought you were looking at him over the Bannisters’ disappearance?’

  ‘I was, but I now think he could be connected to Rasa’s disappearance as well.’

  ‘But he got life. He’s still locked up.’

  ‘He did get life, but I learned yesterday he had been let out on licence to a bail hostel in Sheffield five weeks ago, and he’s done a runner from there. He’s out and about somewhere and now wanted for return to prison. I firmly believe he’s responsible for Rasa’s abduction, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s killed her the same way that he’s shown with the doll. And that letter I got now makes sense. Before he was sent down at court, he said to me, “You’ve not seen the last of me, PC Kerr.” All prisoners have access to the internet at some stage, and although it’s monitored, no one would give him a second look for following local news. He would have easily been able to find out what I’ve been up to in recent years, as the letter suggests. My name’s been in the Chronicle a good few times over the high-profile cases I’ve been involved in, and then there’s my painting success, where my family was mentioned.’

  Grace locked eyes with Hunter for a moment. Then she said, ‘The way you’re presenting Dylan Wolfe, he certainly sounds a credible person of interest we should be looking at. But you know the next thing I’m going to say, don’t you? Do you have actual proof it’s him? And secondly, why would he send the letter and give himself away?’

  Hunter pursed his lips. ‘I don’t have proof, Grace. It’s a gut feeling, I’m afraid. I just remember what he was like. How he treated those victims. They were like prey. When me and Barry interviewed him back in nineteen-ninety-one for the two rapes and attempted rape, one of the things we quizzed him about how he had targeted them, but he refused to tell us. We found from our enquiries that all three of his victims used the same working men’s club where he drank regularly. Two of them were regular drinkers there themselves, and one went there once a week to play bingo. The other thing we found, if you remember, was that Dylan wore a ski mask during his attacks. We found that mask at his girlfriend’s when she reported the assault on her by him. We believe that’s one of the reasons why he stabbed her. Out of revenge.’ He paused and added, ‘And on the subject of the mask he wore, that also brings me on to the attack on that woman the other night, when the attacker tried to drag her into his car.’

  ‘The man wearing the werewolf mask?’

  Hunter nodded sharply. ‘I know I could be stretching my imagination a bit too far, but the press nicknamed Dylan the Wolf Man because of his surname, and it would be the ideal thing to wear, if he’s into leaving clues, like that doll and note I’ve been sent.’

  Grace stopped drinking, staring intently at Hunter.

  He was about to mention Dylan Wolfe’s possible link to the Bannisters’ disappearance that happened just months before he was caught, when he became conscious of a presence looming over their table. He looked over his shoulder and was faced with a smug-looking St. John-Stevens. Hunter’s stomach flipped. This is all I fucking need, he thought to himself.

  ‘My, this is a comfortable little gathering. This little tete-a-tete wouldn’t be about me by any chance, would it?’

  ‘You’re suffering from an inferiority complex, boss. We’re actually debating who the little shit might be who leaked the Sark incident to the press. I was just telling Grace here what I’m going to do the person once I find out who it is.’

  Hunter issued the DCI a mocking grin while Grace fought hard to stifle a smirk.

  ‘And what might that be, Detective Sergeant Kerr?’

  ‘Oh, they’ll find out. No need for you to worry your little head about it for now.’

  The DCI puffed out his chest. He looked furious. ‘What did you just say to me? This is insubordination, Sergeant Kerr. I shall be writing you up for a discipline first thing tomorrow. You won’t even have a job in cold case by the time I’ve finished.’

  Hunter slammed down his beer glass, the colour draining from his face. ‘Shall I tell you what you are going to do, SIR? Right now, you are going to make your way back out of the door you’ve just come through and drive away from here and leave me in peace. I am off duty, as is my colleague, and if you write any such thing, I will make a formal complaint to Professional Standards that you are bullying me in the workplace and harassing me by following me around when I am off duty.’ Hunter scraped back his chair and stood up to face his angry-looking, red-faced DCI. ‘Do I make myself clear, SIR?’

  Grace gripped Hunter’s wrist. ‘Leave it, Hunter,’ she said through clenched teeth.

  St. John-Stevens was forced to step back in order to aim a finger at Hunter. He spat out, ‘I’ll see you in my office first thing tomorrow, Detective Sergeant Kerr,’ turned on his heel and stomped to the door.

  As the DCI left, Grace said, ‘Flipping ’eck, Hunter, if you hadn’t made an enemy of him before, you have now.’

  Hunter sat back down, exhaling deeply. ‘Fuck him! He’ll give me a bollocking, that’s all. He’ll be scared I’ll take my threat to Professional Standards. He knows the accusations I’ve made could have lasting repercussions for his precious career.’ He picked up the remainder of his drink and downed it in one. ‘I’ll get us another round.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Hunter’s head started thumping the moment he woke up. Slowly opening his eyes, his gaze lingered on the bedside clock. It was a blur, and then his sight adjusted. 7.10 a.m. He groaned. It felt like cotton wool was stuck to the insides of his mouth and as he stirred to get out of bed to get a drink, his stomach roiled. As he took a deep breath to stop himself vomiting, his forehead started to sweat.

  ‘Oh, you’re alive then?’

  He looked up to see Beth putting down a mug of tea on his bedside cabinet, and he made an attempt to push himself up but his head spun and bile lurched into his throat. Swa
llowing hard, he groaned. ‘God, I feel terrible.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. You fell in the door last night.’ Beth moved across to the dressing table and started to put on her make up.

  Hunter shut his eyes, his thoughts drifting back to yesterday evening. He could remember after his fourth pint Grace telling him he should slow down, but he was so wound up over St. John-Stevens he went on to whisky. Fatal. And now he was paying the price. He dragged himself up the bed and took a drink of his tea.

  ‘I bet you don’t even remember how you got home?’ Beth said, applying eye make-up without looking around.

  Hunter thought about it. After a couple of seconds, he said, ‘Grace dropped me off.’

  ‘I know. I spoke with her while you were being sick on the drive. She told me to tell you she would be here about quarter to eight to take you to work, so you’d better get your skates on.’

  Hunter finished his tea before hauling himself out of bed into the shower. As he dressed, he could hear Beth below getting fractious with the boys as she chivvied them to get themselves organised for school. Normally he would have hurried down to support her, but this morning the least bit of movement was too much effort. As he made his way downstairs Beth was at the front door, ushering out Jonathan and Daniel.

  She threw him a stern look and said, ‘I’m dropping them off at your mum and dad’s, they’re taking them to school, and Grace will be here in five minutes, so you need to get yourself sorted. I’ll see you tonight.’ And with that, she left.

  As the door slammed shut, Hunter mumbled, ‘Sorry,’ and made his way into the kitchen, where he filled a tumbler with water, added Alco-Seltzer and drank it down in one.

  He had just dragged on his coat when he heard a car horn beep, and opening the front door, he saw Grace waiting in her car at the top of the drive. Picking up his briefcase and trudging up the driveway, he climbed into the passenger seat.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said brightly. ‘And how is my favourite Detective Sergeant feeling this morning?’

  ‘Shit,’ Hunter answered, buckling up his seatbelt.

  ‘Well, you’ve only yourself to blame. I did warn you.’

  ‘You sound like Beth.’

  ‘She given you a hard time as well?’

  ‘Not exactly. It’s what she doesn’t say that’s worse. Do you women take a course in how to make your husbands feel dreadful?’

  Grace let out a laugh, and pulling away from the kerb, said, ‘I was going to drop you off for your car, but my guess is you will still be under the influence, so I’ll take you straight to work and you can make arrangements to pick it up later, okay?’

  ‘Yeah. I think you’re right. That’s the last thing I need at the moment. I’ve got to face St. John-Stevens when I get in and I’m in no mood for him whatsoever.’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about him. He’ll probably want to make it known that he’s in charge, but it’s like you said last night: he’ll not dare take it any further because we were off duty and he had no right hassling you like he did. He’s a career man, after all. He’ll not want that to be put in jeopardy.’

  ‘Well, I’ll get myself sorted out with a brew and bacon butty and go and see him after morning briefing.’

  ‘What are you going to do about the doll and note you got? Are you going to mention your theory to him about Dylan Wolfe?’

  ‘I think at this moment in time, he’ll not be interested in anything I have to say. You know my thoughts about Dylan’s involvement, so I’ll hang on to it for a few days and make some enquiries to see if I can track him down. And in the meantime, you can make your own discreet enquiries, and if you get anything then you can let me know.’

  ‘Done.’

  Hunter walked into the office carrying a warm bacon sandwich and a mug of strong, sweet tea and found Maddie at her desk on her computer. She greeted him with a friendly smile and pointed at a folded newspaper on top of his keyboard. He saw it was a copy of the Chronicle, and without picking it up guessed it contained Zita’s article. He set down his sandwich and cuppa, picked up the paper and whipped it open. The front-page headline was KILLED IN THE LINE OF DUTY and the opening paragraph read:

  Today, the Chronicle has learned that Detective Sergeant Hunter Kerr was forced to defend himself and his aged father when escaped psychopath, Billy Wallace — jailed for the brutal murders of five people two years ago — tried to shoot them on the island of Sark, resulting in him falling to his death.

  The account focussed on Billy’s brutal killings two years previous, including the attempted murder of Hunter’s dad, a little about his trial, how he had escaped from Barlinnie Prison to seek revenge against Hunter’s family and how they had been forced to flee to Sark for their own safety. It concluded with several paragraphs on how Billy Wallace had managed to discover their whereabouts, had coerced the owner of a small yacht to take him there, and ended with how Hunter had acted in self-defence when Billy tried shooting his father, resulting in him falling backwards 150 feet into the raging sea. Zita had used the same quote from Guernsey Police as the Yorkshire Post to end her piece. The headline and article were far more supportive of Hunter, and he could feel himself getting emotional as he finished reading. He took a deep breath. Zita had done him proud. He owed her one.

  ‘Either you’re having an affair with her or you’ve paid a lot of money for that,’ Maddie said with a grin.

  Hunter looked across. ‘What are you trying to insinuate?’

  Maddie laughed. Then she said, ‘Well, she’s certainly come to your rescue with that.’

  ‘And nothing more than I deserve.’ Hunter set down the newspaper, took two paracetamols from his top drawer, and popping them into his mouth, he swilled them down with a good glug of tea.

  ‘Feeling under the weather?’ Maddie asked.

  ‘You could say that. I drank too much last night and now I’m regretting it.’ He told her about his meeting with Grace in the George and Dragon, and how St. John-Stevens had walked in on them and how he had reacted. ‘I’ve got a bollocking coming from him once I’ve eaten and drunk this.’

  ‘I don’t know, ever since I’ve met you, all I’ve witnessed is you courting disaster with senior officers,’ she responded mockingly.

  ‘Only with St. John-Stevens. He’s a pain in the arse.’

  ‘And as for a bollocking, I don’t think it’ll be this morning. I saw him dashing out of the car park as I was arriving. He seemed to be in a hurry.’

  ‘Probably plotting my downfall,’ sniped Hunter and took another drink of tea and a bite of his sandwich. Gulping it down, he said, ‘Well, if that’s the case, shall we arrange to see Dr Bhatia about Tina Bannister and see where that takes us?’

  Dr Bhatia had retired to a large bungalow in the tiny village of Cadeby, a place Hunter knew well; years ago, he and Beth would head there on a regular basis in the summer months, before Jonathan and Daniel came into their lives, calling in at the Cadeby Inn for a beer and a leisurely lunch. As he and Maddie entered the village, driving past the Inn, Hunter couldn’t help but notice it had lost its country pub look and was now a fine dining restaurant. He stored it away in his memory with a view to giving it a try in the very near future.

  Dr Bhatia’s home was immediately right after the Inn, situated at the head of a small cul-de-sac that contained only six homes, all of them of substantial proportions. Hunter pulled up and cast his eyes over the large stone-built bungalow. ‘Well, he’s certainly done well for himself,’ he said. ‘I bet this cost him a few bob.’

  Maddie picked her bag out from the footwell. ‘Even a superintendent’s police pension couldn’t afford this. Oh well, we can dream,’ she added, opening her door.

  The doctor had the front door open before they had even knocked, greeting them with, ‘I’ve been looking out for you. Come in, please.’

  Hunter shook the doctor’s hand. The man returned a firm shake, and as Hunter eyed him, he couldn’t help but think how well he looked for someone in his early
eighties. He was a good foot smaller than himself and quite rotund, but had a commanding presence about him, and with only a few wrinkles and a decent head of very dark hair, which Hunter guessed was dyed, he could have easily passed for a man in his sixties.

  He welcomed them into the house, pointing them along a long corridor that led through to a large lounge that was filled with warm light coming through a bank of folding doors which opened onto a huge, well-maintained garden.

  ‘This is a lovely room,’ Maddie said, running her eyes over her surroundings and settling them on the view out to the garden.

  ‘It’s the main reason we bought the house. That, and the location. It’s so quiet out here, and there are some beautiful walks.’

  Hunter nodded, his eyes drifting to an array of colourful pictures made from fabrics and beads adorning the walls.

  ‘Please take a seat,’ Dr Bhatia said, pointing towards a three-seater sofa. He settled down in a comfortable-looking armchair. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you,’ Hunter answered and looked at Maddie as he sat down.

  She shook her head. ‘No thank you. We don’t want to take up too much of your time.’

  The doctor relaxed back into his chair, crossing one ankle over the other. ‘You want to speak with me about Tina Bannister, you said on the phone?’

  Hunter nodded. ‘We just want to ask you a few questions about her, if you don’t mind. We understand she was one of your patients?’

  ‘Yes, her and her mother.’

  ‘Do you remember them well?’ asked Maddie.

  ‘My memories are fading slightly these days, dear. Sometimes I can’t remember what I did last week, but when it comes to my patients, I remember nearly everything about them. Most of my patients, I dealt with from the moment they were born, and sometimes, sadly, to the moment they died. I remember Tina, mostly because of her mum. She had a drinking habit, you see, and didn’t look after Tina that well when she was little. Social Services were always ringing me about her.’ He paused and said, ‘Her mum died before she got to see little Amy. Cirrhosis of the liver and other drink complications. I did try to help her, but she just wouldn’t listen.’ His nut-brown eyes drifted up to the ceiling, as if in reflection. After a few seconds, his gaze was back upon Hunter and Maddie again. ‘Have you found Tina after all this time? Is that why you’ve come to see me?’