Cold Death (D.S.Hunter Kerr)

by Fowler, Michael

  Michael found himself staring again and he had to mentally check himself. You daft pillock, she’s only agreed to go out for a meal. Behave yourself you’re acting like a love sick teenager.

  “What’s Hunter like? Is he a good cop?”

  “Very - one of the best I’ve worked with. Completely dependable and a good DS as well - can get the best out of anybody. Sails a little bit close to the wind sometimes but he’s good at covering his back. I’ve had to pull him up a couple of times when the District Commander has got a whiff of his antics, but I always back him and give him a little rein because he always gets results. He’s never let me down yet.” He took another drink of his beer and picked up the menu. He was feeling hungry.

  He scanned the selection; he could only just make out the choices without his reading glasses. “Have you decided on what you want to order?” Michael waved the menu. “I can recommend the mussels as a starter. Cooked in brandy and cream – I had them a couple of months ago.”

  “Yummy sounds good. I’ll give them a try.”

  “I’ll tell you this for nothing,” continued Michael setting down the menu, “Hunter will be devastated when he finds out this business with his old man. I do know how close he is to Jock. I’ve drunk in their company and trained with the pair of them. I’m shocked myself about what’s gone on. Until you turned up at my office and we had that conversation the other day I had no idea about Jock’s past.”

  “Oh well c’est la vie. Anyway less of the job talk for now and let’s order I’m ravenous.”

  Michael watched her long fingers clasp the wine glass and set it against her ruby glossed bottom lip whilst she scoured the menu. He realised it had been years since he had felt like this.

  The conversation flowed easily as they ate, Dawn occasionally falling into fits of giggles as he regaled her with some of his faux pas early on in his career. Inevitably as the evening went on some of the chat focussed on aspects of their job before finally coming around to their personal lives.

  Michael opened by explaining that he had been divorced for eight years. “I was furious at the time because I never saw it coming, but when I look back on it now I can’t blame her. I suppose you could say I’m married to my job, and I do love it. I’ve always been a detective and I’ve just never taken my foot off the pedal. Even when we went on holiday with my son and daughter I couldn’t wait to get back to work. The worst thing I had to reconcile myself with after the split - and I’ve managed to do it slowly over the years – is that deep down I know I’ve brought this all on myself.”

  “Do you still see your ex and the kids?”

  “Yes. She’s remarried now. But to be honest, we probably see more of each other than when we were married. I get the odd invite to go round for a meal. And I also get to see the kids as much as I want. They’re teenagers now and I keep telling myself to ease off the job otherwise I’m going to miss the best times of their lives.”

  “So why don’t you do it. What’s stopping you?”

  “I’ll let you into a little secret. I’ve put myself forward for a Detective Chief Superintendent’s post which I know is coming up at Headquarters. It’s less hands on, I know, and more nine-to-five but I can officially retire in three years time with a thirty year pension and I’ve promised myself I’ll go and spend more time with my son and daughter and pick up my life again.” He picked up the bottle of Merlot he had ordered with their meals, saw that it was still half full; they had talked more than they had drunk, and replenished their glasses. “Now I’ve told you my deepest darkest secrets what about yourself?”

  Rolling her wine glass between the palms of her hands Dawn opened up by likening herself to him; a career detective devoted to work – but also ambitious. “I don’t mean to the point where I’ll trample over anyone to get what I want to achieve.” He saw that she appeared to be searching his face for a look of understanding to the comment she had just made.

  Michael nodded approvingly – inviting her to continue.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a hard-nosed bitch. It’s just that over the years some of the older end - especially male supervisors have dismissed me when I’ve wanted to take a particular route towards something, or they’ve taken credit for something I’ve done. So I just want to show them I’m as good as them or even better.” She smiled “Am I scaring you?”

  He almost laughed. “Not one bit. I know exactly what you mean.” He took a sip of the red wine and then nodded towards her hand. “I’ve noticed the wedding ring. How’s your hubby cope with the job?”

  He noticed Dawn’s eyes glass over. She set down her wine and began twisting the gold band around her finger. “He’s left me,” she replied. Her voice was suddenly brittle.

  “Oh I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be, you weren’t to know. You know what you said earlier about not seeing it coming – so wrapped up in your job. Well snap – that’s me as well. I found out a month ago. The bastard. He’d been seeing a colleague from his office for the last two and half years. When I thought he was away on conferences he was in fact screwing her in a hotel somewhere. It all came out after I took a phone call from one of the hotels where they’d stayed – he’d left behind his credit card.” She stopped twiddling with her wedding ring and picked up her wine glass. “He didn’t even try to deny it. Said it was my fault – I was never at home – always at work – and what did I expect. He’s moved in with her and consulted a solicitor – he wants a divorce.”

  “Dawn I’m so sorry.” He fixed her teary eyes. “I know what you’re going through.” He raised his glass. “I know a good cure for the blues though – I’ll order another bottle of red. Let’s get drunk.”

  For the next hour they continued drinking. Michael did his best to brighten her mood with more of his ‘office’ stories. It worked; she was soon in fits of giggles again.

  Draining the last of his wine he peered over his glass and searched Dawn’s face. He studied her eyes and she returned his look with her own probing intent.

  He reached across and lightly touched her hand. “I’ll order a taxi. Do you fancy coming back to my place – for a nightcap – instead of going back to your lonely hotel room?”

  “Will we regret this in the morning?”

  “I’ll regret it if you say no.”

  A smile lit up her face. “You’ve talked me into it.”

  His heart lifted.

  -ooOoo–

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  DAY TWENTY FIVE: 17th September.

  Barnwell:

  Marcus Hill had been a police officer for fifteen years and he had developed ‘a nose’ for sniffing out when something wasn’t right. And as he watched the grey Ford Mondeo in the distance, circling, ever so slowly, around the recently cropped wheat field, he had that feeling that something was wrong.

  Firstly, because the farmer who owned this field had a red Nissan Navarro, and besides he’d only ever seen the farmer’s tractor going around in that field. And secondly, there had been quite a few complaints over the years about fly-tipping in this locality. Thirdly, the lane just above the field was where a couple of burned out stolen cars had been found in recent months.

  Marcus had spotted the Ford Mondeo two minutes earlier. He had been making his way back to the station for his meal, having spent the last twenty minutes driving around the countryside section of his beat - where the roads were less congested, and where the scenery was better. It had been an unusually quiet afternoon, and he was taking every opportunity to savour the tranquil moment - these instances were few and far between - especially on the afternoon shift.

  The car had attracted his attention because it had emerged from a copse of trees, which he knew was the site of a ruined eighth century chapel. He had an interest in local history, and he knew it had protected status.

  Marcus pulled his police car off the road and drifted up onto the grass verge, settling next to a gap in the hedge, where he hoped for a better view. He saw that the Mondeo had
come to a stop, but such was the angle of its parking that he was unable to get a view of its number plate. He watched as the passenger door opened. A man dressed in a long dark coat disembarked.

  Leaning across the passenger seat of the police car Marcus strained his eyes to get a clearer description but he was too far away. He watched on as the dark clothed man made his way to the rear of the Mondeo where he popped open the tailgate.

  Marcus decided he had seen enough. His suspicions were aroused. He radioed in, using his personal airwaves set, informing the communications room operator what he could see, and asked for back up. Then he pulled back onto the road and set off towards the track, half a mile away, where he knew he would be able to get access to where the Mondeo was.

  The public bridle-path he turned onto was rutted and undulated and lined by heavy hawthorn bushes, and it took him much longer than he had anticipated finding an opening into the field.

  Marcus spotted the gap at the last moment, and pulling the steering hard left, bounced up and over a tufted incline, and dropped down hard onto the recently harvested field. The heavy landing knocked the wind out him and he slammed on the brakes. The police car skidded to a halt. As he grabbed his breath he scoured the fields to gather his bearings. He espied the Mondeo twenty yards away, though he realised, when he saw that both front doors were open, and the car devoid of passengers, that he had lost the element of surprise.

  He flung open his driver’s door and sprinted towards the car, giving an update over his personal radio, whilst at the same time searching the field with his eyes to see if anyone was making a run for it.

  There was no sign of life. He guessed they had dashed into the copse where the old chapel was. Once his colleagues arrived Marcus knew that there would be nowhere for them to hide. They’d surround them and soon flush them out.

  He stopped at the Mondeo, craning his neck inside, through the open doors, just in case one of them was laying low in the seats. The car was empty. Then he made his way to the rear where the tailgate was still up.

  Now let’s see what you were up to, shall we!

  What he found in the boot momentarily startled him - curled up in the foetal position lay a man, and he’d seen enough corpses in his time to realise this man was dead.

  The sudden rustle of leaves coming from the coppice behind made Marcus jerk up his head. Emerging through the bushes and into relief he saw a stocky built man. A black woollen ski mask covered his head. He reached for his baton and simultaneously depressed the emergency button of his radio – his Status-Zero alert – a signal which overrode all other communications on that channel and let colleagues know that he was in imminent danger.

  Marcus never heard the footsteps behind him and never felt the blow to his head, though his ears registered the sharp crack as his skull fractured.

  The very last thing he saw, before his vision pitched into darkness, was the galaxy of stars which exploded inside his head.

  - ooOoo -

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  DAY TWENTY SIX: 18th September.

  Barnwell:

  It took Hunter ages to find a parking spot. He had never seen the police station car park so full. And inside the station was no different. The rear foyer and corridor was crammed with uniformed officers all milling around. He didn’t identify any as regular faces.

  Pushing through the double doors into the first floor stairwell he recognised one of the duty group sergeants. He was carrying a clip-board and seemed deep in thought.

  “What’s going on?”

  The uniformed Sergeant looked up. “Oh, morning Hunter. You mean the Task Force officers? Haven’t you heard?”

  “Heard what?”

  “Marcus Hill was attacked last night. He’s in a bad way.”

  “Marcus!” Hunter knew Marcus Hill. A few years ago Marcus had joined Hunter’s team as a CID aide, but had then passed his sergeants exams and decided to go back into uniform where he would have the regularity of ‘acting-up.’ He had only spoken with him a couple of weeks ago, when he’d bumped into him in the canteen. He’d seen the smile on Marcus’s face as he’d told him that he’d just passed the last round of sergeant’s boards and was waiting for a suitable vacancy.

  “What happened?”

  The Sergeant outlined the circumstances. “Fractured skull. And he suffered a bleed to the brain. They operated on him late last night and he’s heavily sedated. We won’t know anything else about his condition until later this morning.”

  “Have you got the person who did it?”

  The Sergeant shook his head. “He called in a grey Mondeo, that he thought was acting suspiciously, in one of the fields opposite the Crown Inn at Barnburgh, and called for back-up. Then he went status-zero, but it took the first car a good ten minutes to get to him. By that time the Mondeo, and whoever had attacked him, had left. We’ve got everyone available out looking. Task Force are going out to do a thorough search of the area.”

  Hunter laid a hand on the sergeant’s shoulder. “Okay let me know how you go on, and keep me updated about Marcus.” He turned and made his way up the stairwell to the MIT room, his thoughts drifting.

  Shouldering his way through the doors Hunter immediately felt the atmosphere in this office at a complete contrast to the one he had been greeted with downstairs. This place was buzzing. It brought him back from his gloom.

  He slipped off his jacket and wrapped it around the back of his chair. He caught his partners gaze. She was placing a mug of coffee down on her desk.

  “Morning Grace. Have you heard about Marcus?”

  “Yeah, terrible isn’t it.”

  Hunter nodded. He pointed towards his murder squad colleagues who were at their desks, cradling their own hot drinks and chatting excitedly in small groups.

  “Something going on that I should know about?”

  “That’s appeared this morning.”

  Grace thumbed a sign towards the white incident boards at the front of the room. Beside them, stacked on a trolley, was a large flat screen TV on ‘stand-by’ and a DVD player.

  “I called in to speak to Isobel first thing and she told me we were in for a treat this morning. She said there’d been a breakthrough – but she wouldn’t tell me what.”

  Before Hunter and Grace could discuss things further they were interrupted by Michael Robshaw and Barry Newstead making a noisy entrance. The team watched Barry swagger to the television, his face beaming as he switched on the monitor with a hand held remote, whilst the SIO took up centre stage in front of the boards.

  “Okay everyone settle down.” I’m guessing you’ve all heard a whisper that progress has been made in this case, especially after the disappointment we had from the interview with the Hassans.” Michael Robshaw swung his eyes from Hunter to Grace. “And that’s no reflection on you two by the way. We had nothing to go on.” He paused and broke into a grin. “That was until yesterday afternoon.” He began rubbing his hands together. “When Barry discovered what you are about to all see. All yours Barry,” introduced the SIO.

  Barry Newstead smoothed a hand down over his loosened tie. He took in a deep breath and made a vain attempt at pulling in his beer belly. “As you know, I was given the task of visiting the security team at Meadowhall to see what, if any, CCTV footage they had of Samia Hassan and see if there was anything of significance which could take the investigation further. Well thanks to the dates, times and precise location which refuge owner Nahida Perveen provided I was able to isolate the cameras which might have captured images of Samia. This is what I have found. The footage is disjointed because I have just taken clips from hours of original CCTV film and cobbled it together onto one disc.”

  He took a step back away from the large TV screen and pressed the remote. A section of the interior of the huge shopping mall flickered onto the forty-eight inch screen.

  “Okay this is where we first pick up Samia.” He pointed to the television using the remote and homed in on a young, pretty, dark haired Asian w
oman strolling through the ground floor of Marks and Spencer’s store and out through the entranceway, which gives access to the mall. The murder squad detectives were quickly glued to the pictures playing out over the TV. They witnessed Samia weave her way through a throng of seated people centred round an open plan coffee lounge and then take up a place at an empty table. “You’ll see at the bottom right is the time and date of the footage; the fourteenth of March – a good six months ago. I’ll fast forward it a bit.” He flicked a button on the hand-held and then used the remote to point out another woman joining Samia at the table. “That’s Nahida Perveen. I’ll not go any further but I can tell you they have coffee and are obviously in conversation for about twenty five minutes and then Samia leaves and makes her way back into Marks and Sparks before heading off onto the train.” Barry clicked the remote again. “Okay this is the second piece of footage. We jump forward to the twenty-eighth of July.”

  Again images played out of Samia walking through the ground floor of Marks and Spencer’s and out towards the coffee lounge by its entranceway. On this occasion Nahida was already at a table and Samia joined her. Barry speeded up the footage showing Samia handing over a red knapsack and then froze the picture. He turned to Hunter. “I think this is the same knapsack in which you found Samia’s clothing and passport, is it not?”

  Hunter nodded.

  “Okay there’s not much conversation on this occasion,” Barry increased the speed of the footage for a few seconds then hit the play button. “They’re only together for approximately ten minutes and as you can see they split up and leave.” Barry froze the DVD once again, pulled his eyes away from the screen and scanned the room. He had the attention of every detective. “Now this next bit is very interesting,” he continued, clicking the remote back into play mode.