Cold Death (D.S.Hunter Kerr)

by Fowler, Michael

  One minute later the driver was standing before Hunter, trying to fasten the belt around his trousers, finding it difficult because of his shaking hands. He was a nervous wreck, avoiding any eye contact and most apologetic. All Hunter could get from him whilst he was checking out his details through the Police National Computer was that he was ‘sorry’ and enquiring if his wife would find out about this.

  Hunter glanced across at Grace. He could see from the look on her face that she was enjoying watching the guy squirm.

  The driver checked out; no convictions for anything. Hunter berated him for his actions and told him this was a final warning. He couldn’t get away fast enough, slinging the car into reverse, throwing the girl’s cheap high-heeled red patent leather shoes and matching handbag out from the passenger seat whilst Grace prised her out of the car as it began moving backwards. In less than a minute the blue car was shooting towards the park exit, a cloud of dust spinning up from its rear wheels as it tore along the limestone chip track and out of view.

  It was their first good look at her. She couldn’t have been more than nineteen. The slim petite girl bent down to slip her shoes back on and then hoisted up her black leggings shuffling the waist band over her slender hips in full view of both of them. “Bastard” she mumbled. There was not a hint of embarrassment.

  It was such an ungainly sight Hunter thought to himself.

  “Now young lady,” began Grace, “you and I are going to have a long chat.”

  “I not do anything wrong. You cannot prove it.”

  “Oh believe me we can.” Grace grabbed the girl’s handbag, unclipped the fastener and turned it upside down. Lipstick, a compact case, half a dozen twenty pound notes and at least ten condoms spilt out onto the grass. “That should be enough evidence for a police caution unless you’ve been cautioned before and then it’s a court appearance.”

  “Bitch” she snarled and snatched her handbag back. She dropped to her knees and began picking up the scattered contents all the while mumbling beneath her breath.

  Grace bent down and aligned her mouth with the girl’s ear. “I need to ask you some questions miss. If I get the right answers then you and I will part the best of friends. If I don’t, it’s back to the station, and you make no more money tonight. Have I made myself clear?”

  Grace’s opening gambit reminded Hunter of his interview technique with David Paynton the previous night. He turned slightly to hide his smile.

  The girl stuffed the spilled contents back into her handbag, checked the ground to make sure she hadn’t left anything and then hoisted herself up.

  Hunter’s blue eyes scanned the slim frame of the girl. Then he focussed on her face. Her dark eyes were set back - almost sunken. She had applied foundation heavily to hide spots, and blusher to cover prominent cheekbones. He quickly realised she wasn’t slim and petite because of her build, but because of her habit. He had seen the tell tale signs so many times during the three years he had served in Drug Squad. This girl was a druggie; heroin he guessed by the looks of her.

  “First what’s your name?” asked Grace.

  “I Tanya. I Russian.”

  Hunter tried to make out the accent. It had a foreign twang to it but somehow it didn’t sound Russian.

  “Not what people call you? What’s your real name?”

  “Tanya. I really called Tanya.”

  “Didn’t I make myself clear?” said Grace pushing her face nearer. “This is not a good start. It looks like you and I are going back to the station to do a few checks. We’ll take your fingerprints and photograph and bring in immigration if you persist with this.”

  She stood there momentarily, switch-backing her gaze between Grace and Hunter. Then she slammed her hands onto her hips. “Okay it’s not Tanya.”

  And then the foreign accent had gone.

  Hunter and Grace stared incredulously at one another.

  “It’s Kerri – Kerri-Ann Bairstow,” she continued in a Yorkshire accent. She looked down at the ground. “I found I could make more money with a foreign name and fancy background.”

  “Right now we’ve got that sorted, let’s stop mucking about because I’ve got some really important questions to ask, and I don’t want any more of your bullshit.” Grace placed a hand under Kerri-Ann’s chin. “Look at me now. I want to see your face when I ask you these questions”

  She lifted her head and Grace drew back her hand. The girl looked sorrowful and lost.

  “I believe you use this place quite a lot? Bring your punter’s here on a regular basis?”

  Kerri-Ann nodded. She began fiddling with her fingers, picking skin at the side of her cuticles.

  “How many times a week would you say?”

  “A couple of times in mid-week, but quite a lot at the weekend, that’s when there’s not so many people walking about the place.”

  “And how long have you been using this park for your sessions?”

  “Six – seven months.”

  “And do you always get the guys to park up where we found you?”

  She nodded again. “It’s out of the way. Hidden from view if there are people walking round the lake.”

  “Have you heard about the body which was recovered from here just over a week ago?”

  She coloured up, started to twitch nervously, gulped and turned away.

  Grace grabbed hold of Kerri-Ann’s chin again and fixed her gaze square on. “You have haven’t you?”

  She shook herself free of Grace’s grip. “Course I frigging have. You can’t miss it. It’s all over the news and in the local papers.”

  “Look Kerri-Ann this is very important. A young woman’s body was dumped in that lake just over a month ago, and where you park up with your punters is in clear view of the jetty over there.” Grace pointed out towards the wooden mooring dock approximately thirty metres away. “I need to know if you saw any activity on there during one of your visits here. Especially if you saw anyone carrying anything.”

  Kerri-Ann tried to look away again.

  Hunter knew she was hiding something. “This is very serious Kerri-Ann,” he interjected, “a young woman has been murdered and her body dumped over there. If you’ve seen anything we need to know.”

  “I don’t want to get involved. I’m only talking to you now because I want you off my bleeding back. What if whoever did it comes looking for me?”

  “You don’t even need to think about that. There is no way we are going to give out a witness’s name. Anyway what are you worrying about you’ve been using a false name for ages - just change it and do your trade somewhere else?” continued Grace.

  “I don’t know. I feel scared about this.”

  “Kerri-Ann, listen to me, so far you’re our only lead. You really might be able to help us catch this girl’s killer.”

  “I didn’t see that much.”

  Hunter knew from that comment that Grace had managed it. This could be the breakthrough. A tingle of excitement ran through him. He wanted to jump in but he knew this was Grace’s call.

  Grace touched Kerri-Ann’s arm and looked into her sunken eyes. “That’s the hard part over. Now just tell us slowly what you saw.”

  “Look if I tell you will you stop hassling me and let me earn some money? I’ve got a two year old at home and I didn’t see the dad for dust once I told him I was pregnant. I can’t manage on the benefits they give me.“ Her eyes darted between Grace and Hunter.

  There was silence for a good thirty seconds.

  Grace was about to prompt her again when she blurted out. “All right if it’ll keep you off my back and you promise I won’t go to court.” She began to pick at her fingers again. “It was either a Friday or Saturday evening. I know that much because those two nights are my busiest time and I was with my fourth punter. Probably be about half past ten.”

  “Can you remember how long ago?”

  “You’re joking. I know it was July time. As you said could have been four to five weeks ago. I don’t ke
ep a diary.”

  “Okay Keri-Ann carry on. You said it was about half past ten at night.”

  “Yeah that’s roughly the time because we got back into town about eleven. Anyway we’d finished and I needed a piss so I got out of the car to go behind the bushes. I was just about to go when I heard muffled voices near that jetty thing and it made me jump. I sneaked a look through a gap and saw these two guys struggling with a bundle half way along the jetty. I thought they were just dumping rubbish and I never gave it a second thought. I had my piss and went back to the car. I haggled with the guy who had brought me here because he didn’t want to be seen dropping me off in town. Anyway after arguing with him and threatening to make a scene he agreed to drop me off in a pub car park. Then just after we set off we got cut up by this white van, which came from nowhere. It had no lights on and really freaked us both out. The guy I was with stopped the car for a couple of minutes, let it get a long way from us. He was really freaked out as if he knew who it was. He just kept saying he didn’t want to be caught by them. I thought it was a really weird thing to say. In fact he wanted to leave me there and then and piss off back home. I remember it clearly.”

  Hunter exchanged looks with his partner. This interview had just thrown up something he hadn’t expected.

  “Kerri-Ann this punter you were with – do you know him?”

  “No it was a first time and I haven’t seen him since.”

  “Can you remember what he looked like?”

  “Vaguely. He was in his early twenties, quite good looking and he had brown curly hair which was about shoulder length if I remember rightly.”

  “Where did he pick you up?”

  “Down by the industrial estate where I normally hang out.”

  “Can you remember the car he was driving?”

  “Now cars I’m good at – have to be – you know in case something happens. I text it into my phone.” She unclasped her red handbag and fished out her mobile. It was a slim pink coloured model. She flicked it open and began playing around on the keys. Just over a minute later she looked back at them before glancing back at the screen. “A silver grey Volkswagon Golf. I’ve entered the first few letters and numbers but not all the car’s number.” She turned the screen to enable Grace to see the text written registration.

  “YP0Two.” Grace read out loud.

  “I’m sorry that’s all I had time to put in.”

  “Don’t apologise Kerri-Ann that is brilliant. Did you manage to get his name?”

  Kerri-Ann started to laugh. “You are kidding aren’t you.”

  Grace blushed slightly. “Sorry, stupid question. Anything else you can remember about him – distinguishing marks, scars etc?”

  She shook her head.

  “Did your punter drop you back off?”

  “Yeah eventually, I got him to drop me off near the bus station. He wouldn’t drop me near the pub. He was a nervous wreck.”

  “Can you remember roughly what that time would be?”

  “Elevenish, like I said earlier, or something like that.”

  “Okay that’s good. Now I just want to take you back a bit. We’ll not keep you much longer. Did you manage to get a make or number of the white van?”

  “No. As I say it just came out of nowhere. It scared us to death. It wasn’t a big van like a transit or anything, just a small one. I didn’t get a number, it happened so fast.”

  “Did you notice anything special about the van? Anything written on the sides?”

  She seemed to think about it a few seconds then shook her head. “Sorry it was dark and it hadn’t got its lights on.”

  “What about the two guys you saw with the bundle on the jetty.”

  She shook her head again. “Sorry it was so dark. They were just shapes. I never got close enough to even see what they were wearing. As I say at the time I just thought they were dumping rubbish.” She paused and studied Grace and Hunter’s faces. “I’m not lying, I really didn’t see their faces or anything - they were too far away and it was dark.”

  “Okay Kerri-Ann I believe you. Well done. Now let’s get back to our car and get a statement from you.”

  As they set off towards the car park Hunter knew that this was the kick-start the investigation needed.

  * * * * *

  Stirlingshire, Scotland:

  “Still no sign of anyone – could be he’s on his hols.” Rab Geddes announced flinging open the car door and sliding into the driver’s seat. He dropped his gaze and examined his shoes in the footwell.

  “Jeez just look at the state of these now - my tramping back and forth through the fields. Your turn next time.” He stamped his dusty loafers on the car mat and checked them again.

  “Will you shut the fuck up moaning.” Billy Wallace leant forward and with the back of his gloved hand rubbed the condensation from his side of the windscreen. Though the lane-lined bushes hid their destination away from view he continued staring out along the uneven track. From an earlier reconnoitre Billy knew that the secluded bungalow they had been searching for lay less than a quarter of a mile away.

  This was the third parking spot they had chosen that afternoon, spending time in between going for a drive around so that they didn’t attract any unwarranted attention from the locals.

  Billy punched a thumb at the electric window switch and the smoked glass rolled down a fraction. Outside a continuous gale whistled through the trees nearby causing an unpleasant sound as resisting branches squeaked and creaked. In the last hour he had noticed that the weather had turned and was coming from the north; the wind had picked up fiercely and was whipping across the fields. He thumbed the window back up. Splodges of rain were beginning to scar the windscreen disturbing his view ahead. He wasn’t complaining though. This would mean that people wouldn’t be straying far from their homes. The last thing he needed was witnesses.

  They had driven the hour or so to Killin early that morning. At first he wasn’t sure he had heard the name right when he’d eventually beaten its location out of the mouth of Alistair McPherson four days ago, and he’d had to search it out in the road atlas. But when he had found the small village and confirmed the name it had made him smile.

  What an appropriate name for the place. Especially for what he had in mind for his next quarry.

  He and Rab had entered the picturesque village mid-morning; approaching the village by crossing the stone bridge which spanned the Falls of Dochart. As they had crossed Billy couldn’t help but feel that this was a case of déjà vu and for a few seconds it had puzzled him. Then he realised why as he stared across at the foaming stream which pounded between the huge grey rocks and boulders below him. He had seen this location so many times. It had featured in the 1950’s film, ‘The 39 Steps;’ one of his all-time favourite movies. How ironic that the film was about a fugitive on the run - and he should be here; though in his case he wasn’t an innocent man. It had brought about another twisted smile.

  They had checked out the place; driving up and down the main street. Rab had made a few enquiries about the man they were looking for; stating he was an ex-colleague, and that they were on a fishing trip and wanted to catch up with him. It had not taken long to find that the guy was a regular drinker in the bar of the Clachaig Hotel, located beside the falls. A quick visit there and the pair had left armed with the man’s address. That had been seven hours ago.

  Now they lay in wait, watching for the occupant to return to the white-washed bungalow in the middle of nowhere.

  Billy climbed out of the car, stretched and then relieved himself by the bushes that were keeping them hidden. He fastened his trousers and then glanced at his watch. “We’ll give it another hour,” he called back over his shoulder, “and then call it a day if they don’t return.” He stood there motionless, peering over the top of the brambles, feeling the breeze brush past his face, as his gaze settled on the rear of the premises.

  Billy was still there as dusk settled and he seemed unmoved by the sudden biti
ng north easterly and slanting rain.

  Then his heart jolted. A light appeared in the entranceway followed by another in the right hand corner window. In the warm yellowing light he saw a human shadow inside passing across the room windows. He stood transfixed for several moments watching for more activity inside the bungalow; there appeared to be none. He stretched his gloves tighter over his hands; so tight that he could see the outline of his knuckles pushing against the black soft leather. He spun around. “Come on Rab, get your arse in gear he’s back.”

  They crossed the field hugging the bushes, Billy leading, his Crombie flapping in the wind. Rab had to put in a jog every couple of paces to keep up with him. Twenty yards from the rear of the bungalow Billy halted and pushed himself into the hedgerow. He stared intently and listened. There was only the sound of the wind and the rain lashing against the tops of the trees.

  “Right remember what we rehearsed?” Billy questioned in a hushed gravelly tone.

  “Sure”

  “Okay let’s do the business.”

  Rab brushed droplets of rain from the front of his jacket and tip-toed towards the door. Billy never let his eyes off him. He watched Rab knock and a few seconds later saw the door open. The man who answered it had put on a good couple of stones over the years and the hair was thinner and greyer but he knew this was the guy they were after.

  Billy reached the opening as the man was asking for Rab’s ID and had got a foot in the gap before he had time to react. “Mr McNab – long time no see.” He grinned lopsidedly.

  The surprise on Ross McNab’s face was a picture.

  Billy slammed a clenched fist into his pudgy belly. It dropped him to the floor and as he was about to deliver a kick he caught movement through the open door, which led into the lounge to his right. A woman whom he immediately guessed was Mrs McNab stood open-mouthed only a few yards away. He caught the terror in her eyes. He reacted quickly pushing through into the room and before she had time to scream he had a hand clenched around her jaw.

  “Rab get the fat bastard up and get him in here!”