Cold Death (D.S.Hunter Kerr)

by Fowler, Michael

  “And that guy I saw you arguing with in Staithes?”

  “Rab Geddes. It was sheer bad luck he recognised me, especially after all these years. Apparently he’d just dropped off an old friend of his after a stag night up in Glasgow.”

  For a few seconds Hunter felt as if a great weight was pushing down on him. He was trying to make sense of what he had been told. It raised questions; what kind of person was his dad and just as important who was he.

  “This may seem a strange question dad. Is my name really Hunter Kerr?”

  His father looked shocked. “Of course it is. Only I changed my name. It was done by deed poll. Your mum was already a Kerr so she reverted back to her maiden name. You were christened Hunter and your birth certificate says that.”

  Hunter dropped his head into his hands and rubbed them around his face. He could feel a migraine coming on. He hadn’t suffered one for ages. He knew in another hour or so the pressure would be so great that he would see flashing stars and be physically sick.

  - ooOoo -

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  DAY THIRTY THREE: 25th September.

  Sheffield:

  Hunter adjusted the rear view mirror – turned it towards his face. He stared at his reflection and noted the dark rings, which circled his eyes. He stroked his jaw-line – he was in need of a shave.

  Overall, you look like shit Hunter Kerr.

  “You look crap,” said Grace.

  It was as if she had heard the voice inside his head. He glimpsed across at her relaxing in the passenger seat.

  “I feel it. I’ve had very little sleep the past couple of days.”

  “Your dad?”

  Hunter nodded. “He and my mum are staying with us after what’s gone on.”

  “They’ll catch this Billy Wallace and his mate soon and then you can all put it behind you. It sounds to me as though they’ve got them bang to rights and they’ll be going back inside and die in prison.” Grace examined her fingernails, which she had done the previous evening. The pearlescent polish glinted in the sunlight.

  “We won’t be able to put it behind us though will we? It’s always going to be there isn’t it?”

  She turned sharply and fixed him a glare. “Oh for goodness sake Hunter, stop feeling sorry for yourself. How will it affect you in the future? It’s your dad this has happened to.”

  “Grace he’s not the man I thought I knew. All these years he’s lied to me.”

  “Listen to me Hunter. This is me talking to you not only as a friend and colleague but one wearing an impartial hat. Your father has not lied to you and never has done. Yes he’s held back the truth but that is not lying. And the way I see it he did it with all best intentions, especially with the job you’ve got. How could he have told his son – a cop – that he was involved with gangsters in his past? Think about it for a second – would you tell your sons?”

  He held her stare. He had no response. He hadn’t looked at it like that.

  “And from what you told me it seemed to me as though he had little choice. He was only twenty two at the time with all kinds of problems to deal with – mainly how to make a living for him and your mother after a promising boxing career was in tatters. I’m sorry but I don’t agree with you on this one. I feel for your dad. It must have been a living nightmare for him the last couple of months. Can you not imagine what must have been going on inside his head? He was trying to protect your mum and you from this. You need to take a long hard look at yourself Hunter. You’ve only got one set of parents. You know how much they’ve been there for you and how much you’ve got in common with your dad. He’s your friend as well as your father. If you carry on like this you’ll be in great danger of destroying your relationship. Anyway what’s Beth say about all this?”

  He faltered with his reply. He’d already had a similar hushed conversation with his wife. Finally he said, “practically the same as you.” He felt a lump emerge in his throat.

  “Well there you are then. Listen to her. I don’t know what you men would do without us women. For god’s sake take him out for a beer and clear the air.”

  Suddenly static over their radios broke into their conversation.

  He, Grace, and the majority of the MIT team had been on plot since seven am that morning, their unmarked cars at various locations dotted around Parkhill Flats in Sheffield lying in wait for Ari and Pervez Arshad.

  Excitedly, they pushed themselves up from their lounging positions.

  Grace yanked across her seatbelt.

  Hunter started the car and strained his ears to listen to the report coming over the police radio net.

  The information he was listening to spirited his thoughts away from the problems of his father and conjured up fresh images, specifically the ones he had seen in the office the previous afternoon, after Superintendent Robshaw had bounded into the office, excitedly announcing to the squad that they had found the hiding place of Samia’s killers. Drug Squad had contacted him, he had lauded. One of their informants had given an approximate location of Ari and Pervez. They had a flat somewhere in the huge complex, which the team were currently staking out. He added that the pair had acquired false passports and were making plans to leave the country in the next few days. Hunter had watched the whole squads faces light up with looks of jubilation.

  “They should be coming into view in the next minute or so,” Grace exclaimed out loud, ear close to her personal radio.

  Hunter was listening to the same transmission. DS Mark Gamble and DC Paula Clarke were on foot and had Ari and Pervez in their sights. They were passing out the targets’ descriptions and present location.

  He had parked on an elevated section of road overlooking the concrete monoliths, which he had read somewhere were now an icon of sixties architecture. He could see for himself that many of the blocks were in the throes of refurbishment and their frontages had a vibrant colour scheme mix of red, blue and yellow in an attempt to hide the drab greyness of the structures.

  Within thirty seconds Hunter had the targets in his vision.

  He followed the two Asians’ movements. They appeared to be in no hurry. They were sauntering across a grassy slope a hundred and fifty metres below. The pair dressed identically in dark hoodies and baggy jeans and he could make out, thanks to the glint on gold from the bright mid-morning sunshine, that both of them had a number of lengthy chains hanging around their necks dangling to mid chest. They were huddled together and appeared in deep conversation.

  Hunter hunched himself forward, to keep them in his sights.

  Within seconds the pair made a surprise sharp movement. They stopped in mid-step and spun around to get a look behind.

  Something had spooked them guessed Hunter.

  He was right.

  A split second later the brothers were off and running, and coming into view he spotted DS Mark Gamble scrambling after them. His voice was screaming over the airwaves letting everyone know that the foot surveillance had been compromised.

  Hunter hung on to the two fleeing figures watching where they were heading before he made a move. He gripped the handbrake with his left hand and lightly touched the accelerator with his right foot. He felt the engine surge. He was ready for a quick getaway.

  The pair dropped out of view, disappearing into a line of trees at the edge of the estate, but Hunter knew they were making for the road.

  Hunter could hear that Mark Gamble was doing his best to keep the commentary going, his voice trailing off now and again breathlessly, as he tried to make ground. Within seconds his excited tone was alerting the team.

  “They’re getting into a new shaped silver Astra!”

  Hunter craned his neck scouring the road system beyond the line of trees. He heard the Vauxhall before he saw it as the rubber of the tyres screeched on the tarmac. Then it sped into his sightline, heading away from the estate in the general direction of the suburbs of Halfway. Hunter locked the steering wheel sharply and pulled away from the kerb. Whipping
through the gears quickly he soon made the end of the road and he guessed he would be a fraction in front of the speeding Astra. He could hear over the radio that two other unmarked cars were in hot pursuit but trailing.

  Hunter reached the junction in a matter of seconds and slung his car at an angle to stop the Vauxhall turning in preventing any costly u-turn. He gripped the steering wheel tightly and braced himself.

  Ten seconds later the Astra gunned into view rocking out of a right hand bend and veering towards them.

  Hunter gritted his teeth and in one swift movement spun the steering wheel sharply, hitting the accelerator and the brake almost simultaneously. The result was that his car jumped forward into the carriageway giving the impression he was going to deliberately collide.

  The action had the desired effect. There was a long screech as the Astra tyres crabbed across the road surface. It slewed sideways, the nearside wheels smashing into the opposite kerb edge.

  Hunter could see Ari, the driver, fight with the wheel, trying to straighten out the car as it bounced back into the centre of the road. His actions were in vain. It bucked and scythed violently, whipping into a screaming 180-degree turn before smashing its back end against a concrete lamp stanchion.

  Hunter threw open his door, smacked the release button of his seat belt and flung himself out of the car. He instinctively knew Grace would be following.

  Ari was as quick in his movement, kicking open his door. It smacked Hunter’s legs and spun him sideways. It gave Ari the few seconds break that he needed and he was out of the blocks like a sprinter on a running track.

  Catching his balance Hunter momentarily winced at the pain to his right thigh, but then the adrenaline kicked in and he set off in pursuit.

  Ari had gained ten yards on him. Hunter could make out the word SEMTEX in large white letters across the back of his black designer hooded top and couldn’t help think how much he’d like to demolish him once he got hold of him.

  Within moments his chest was pumping in and out in rhythm with his arms and legs. His lungs clawed for air as he put in that extra burst. In less than fifty yards Hunter was in grabbing distance and he lashed out with a swift kick. It connected, banging one leg into the other, sending him sprawling into a heap. Hunter was on top of him and wrestling an arm up his back before he had any time to react.

  He let out a loud scream as Hunter yanked his shoulder joint against its socket.

  “You’re breaking my fucking arm!”

  “Think yourself lucky it’s not your neck.” Hunter snarled. “You’re nicked!”

  As he turned round to drag his prisoner back he saw for the first time the chaos behind him. Uniform and CID cars were strewn everywhere and Grace was snapping handcuffs on a dishevelled Pervez’s wrists; he was being restrained by Tony Bullars who had been the lead car in the chase prior to the crash.

  As Hunter neared, still jamming Ari’s arm up his back, forcing him to walk on his tip-toes, he could see Pervez doubled up, frantically rubbing at his face and moaning loudly.

  “What’s the matter with him?” he asked, releasing his prisoner to Mike Sampson who was waiting with snap-on cuffs.

  Pervez snapped up his head.

  Hunter could see that tears were streaming down his face and that he was having difficulty opening his eyes.

  “That fucking bitch has CS’d me,” Pervez moaned.

  “Stop rubbing your eyes you’ll only make it worse,” Grace retorted with a smirk, slipping her CS gas canister back into her jacket pocket. She turned to Hunter. “I thought he was going to attack me so I gassed him.”

  “Fucking liar I said I was coming quietly.”

  Hunter kept a straight face.

  “I don’t know Grace, what have I said to you about police brutality and that temper of yours?” He opened the back door of his car and guided Ari onto the rear seat. “I wouldn’t dream of doing anything like that. I don’t know I can’t take you anywhere.”

  He turned to see her rolling up her eyes and shaking her head in mock despair and he shot her a wink.

  “Well done everyone,” he exclaimed slamming the car door shut. “Let’s wrap this up and get these two back for questioning.”

  * * * * *

  Barnwell:

  Hunter picked up one of the Pakistani passports from his desk, flicked through the inside pages and added a few more notes to his pre-interview record. He set it back down amongst the pile of evidence laid out across his and Grace’s desks.

  Upon their return to Barnwell with their prisoners the team had emptied the contents of the Ari and Pervez’s Vauxhall Astra. In the boot they found personal clothing belonging to the pair in three holdalls together with two single journey airline tickets to Allama Iqbal Internationa Airport in Lahore and two Pakistan National passports, which displayed Ari and Pervez’s photographs but under other names.

  The Drug Squad informant had been spot on about the brothers making ready to flee the country thought Hunter, as he put the finishing touches to his notes. He looked across at Grace who was still logging the evidence.

  The Incident room was empty. DS Mark Gamble and DC Paula Clarke had shot out to Hoyland – to the Hassan’s convenience store; they were going to re-arrest Mohammed and Jilani, now that the Arshads’ were in custody, whilst the other two members of the team DCs Andy France and Alex Mills were still across in Sheffield, trying to determine an address for the brothers. They had refused to divulge their place of abode to the Custody Sergeant and nothing in their possessions helped to highlight one. However they had recovered both the brothers’ mobile phones which were with the technical experts in the hope that they could locate the last spot where a signal was emitted. It was a long shot.

  “Ready?” he asked. He and Grace had been given the task of interviewing Ari Arshad whilst Tony Bullars and Mike Sampson had the job of questioning his brother Pervez. They were already in one of the other interview rooms.

  Grace nodded.

  Hunter pushed back his chair and gathered up his notes. He took a final lingering look at the incident board time-line sequence, confirming and double-checking in his head that he had it all lodged, ready for when he needed to dig in to his memory banks during the interview. He pursed his lips and nodded to himself. He was prepared.

  “Okay Grace let’s put this job to bed.”

  * * * * *

  Ari Arshad presented a cocky look despite the painful pink flesh graze to his right cheek. That had been caused when Hunter had tripped him prior to his arrest and he had already bleated to the Custody Officer that he had been assaulted when he had been booked in.

  He was leaning back on the rear legs of his chair, arms folded defensively.

  The duty solicitor who had been called in was seated next to him scribbling notes into his legal pad. The minute the two detectives had walked into the room Hunter saw him check his watch and make a note of the time.

  Hunter dropped his paperwork and the evidence on the table in dramatic fashion.

  It made the solicitor jump and he scowled over his spectacles.

  Hunter cracked a false apologetic smile. “Sorry about that,” he said raising his eyebrows and taking his seat opposite. He nodded to Grace and she started the tape recording machine.

  Hunter went through the customary preamble to an interview, flicking open his folder even though he knew in his mind he wouldn’t need to refer to it.

  “For the tape can I confirm you are Ari Arshad?”

  The prisoner exchanged a look with his solicitor who shrugged his shoulders and returned a nod.

  Ari rocked slightly on the back legs of his chair. “That’s right, I am the one and only Ari Arshad,” he sniped.

  “And not Habib-ur-Begum as it says in the Pakistan National Passport which we found amongst your possessions?”

  “No comment.”

  “Why were you in possession of a false passport and a one way airline ticket to Pakistan?”

  “No comment.”

  “Ok
ay if that’s the tack you wish to take Ari I’ll ask you a less incriminating question. Just for the record what relation are you to Mohammed Hassan.”

  He glanced at his solicitor again who gestured with raised eyebrows that it was okay to answer.

  “Mohammed is my uncle.”

  “And so Samia Hassan, his daughter, is your cousin?” Hunter removed a photo of Samia from beneath his papers. It was a blown up shot from the Meadowhall CCTV footage. “For the tape I am showing the defendant a colour photograph of Samia Hassan. Is this the Samia we are talking about?”

  Ari nodded, “yes.”