Hunter's Revenge

by Val Penny

  “Thank you, Meera,” Hunter said.

  “Shall we proceed with the measuring and weighing of the rest of the organs?” David asked.

  “Not yet,” Meera said. “Look at this scar on his left leg. What on earth do you think caused that?”

  David walked forward. “Good grief. That happened a long time ago, but it’s amazing the wound didn’t kill him! It looks as if the left leg was chewed by an animal or a pack of animals, and that scar there, as if it was cut with a sharp knife or hit with an axe.”

  “It does. Maybe he took a swipe to scare away the animals, perhaps? Let’s check the muscle change. No wonder George walked with a stick; that leg has a whole chunk of muscle missing from the front of the thigh. It must have caused him a great deal of pain, especially when walking or even standing. But you’re right, David, this is a historic injury. There would be records of the attack if it happened here. There is nothing in George’s medical records about it, so it must have occurred before he arrived in Scotland.” Meera looked at Hunter.

  “I never heard him mention an attack. Did he talk about it to you, Meera?”

  “Never. I just assumed he used the stick because of arthritis.”

  “I’ll need to check and try to find out more. Although if it happened before he arrived in Scotland, it won’t be easy. He must have been just a kid if it happened that long ago.” Hunter scowled.

  Meera sighed and continued with the post-mortem. As she began to make the “Y” incision, she glanced up at Nadia. The young DC was staring in fascination as the procedure continued.

  “Are you always this careful with bodies, or is it because you knew this man?” Nadia asked.

  “Good question,” Meera said. “As forensic pathologists we always work to the standards set by our professional body, The Royal College of Pathologists. One of our obligations is to treat the body with respect.”

  “So what are you doing now?” Nadia asked.

  “This long incision down the front of the body allows me to remove the internal organs. David will weigh and examine them. We check for things like blood clots and tumours, although I have no reason to think we will find that George suffered from anything like that.”

  “Well, you know what killed him,” Nadia said.

  “It may seem obvious, but we cannot make that assumption. We must check everything, anyway. Then we return the organs to the body. Otherwise the post mortem has no value,” Meera said. “Normally I would make a single incision across the back of the head so that the top of the skull can be removed and we can examine the brain.”

  “Not much point doing that today,” Hunter commented sourly.

  “No,” Meera said softly.

  ***

  “You did well, Nadia,” Hunter said as they left the morgue. “Most first-timers vomit or faint. You just seemed to devour the details.”

  “It was really interesting, Sir. I suppose it was easier for me because I didn’t know Mr Reinbold, but once I got used to the smell in there, I found that I learned a lot. It was good of Doctor Sharma to take the time to explain things to me. Thank you for the opportunity.”

  Hunter smiled, “No problem. You can knock off now and I’ll see you tomorrow morning at eight o’clock sharp. Do you need a lift?”

  “No thanks, Sir, I’ll make my own way. I think I’ll go and visit my uncle Fred on my way home. I need to relax. This afternoon gave me a lot of food for thought. See you tomorrow.”

  Hunter made his way to The Persevere Bar, his local pub. He was glad of the warmth, light and familiarity of the surroundings. The Persevere served up a good pint and tasty food. While it might not look fancy, Hunter enjoyed banter with the locals and the company of the folk behind the bar. He knew he was unusually early for the darts match, and so he was able to get a pie and a pint before he took his place at the ocky.

  Chapter Seven

  DCs Tim Myerscough and Mel Grant pulled up outside Thomson’s Top Cars. They noticed the look of the showroom was not as appealing as it used to be. The windows did not sparkle, and there was litter on the ground between the cars. The detectives took this as signs that the young managers were not coping as well as Ian Thomson would have liked.

  They went in and found Jamie and Frankie sitting at the reception desk eating cakes. Both of them looked miserable, but Jamie visibly cheered up when he saw Mel.

  “Darlin’,” he said to her. “I have missed your smiling face. Is this a social call with you looking for a date with me, or are you here in your official capacity?”

  “I’m flattered that you remember me, Jamie, but this is business. Your employee Jenny Kozlowski has been reported missing. DC Myerscough and I are here to make some enquiries.”

  “I take it her mam told you?”

  “Loud and clear,” Tim said.

  “Hmmm, she is loud, and she clearly disnae like me.”

  “Imagine that,” Mel said sarcastically.

  She looked around the showroom and saw the high-quality cars did not gleam the way they should. A Bentley, a Porsche, a Lamborghini; you didn’t see many of these around. The boys should keep the place clean and tidy: smart, to go with these smart cars. And it was freezing in here. She noticed the open door that led to the garage beyond.

  “So can you tell us what happened to Jenny, then?” Tim asked.

  “Well, I wasn’t here, so it can’t be my fault,” said Jamie.

  “I wasn’t here neither, so it’s not my fault either!” Frankie whined.

  “We’re not looking to blame you, we just need information. We are trying to find Jenny. Maybe you can help? Could you give us an idea of the order that things happened, here, before you closed up last night?” Tim leant on the reception desk and looked straight at Jamie. Mel could see that he was trying to be reassuring.

  “Well we weren’t busy, really,” Jamie said, “so we told everybody else to bugger off. They were out of here so fast, fucking Gary even forgot to log the Volvo that was waiting for a service. So there was only Frankie and Jenny and me here.”

  “Who’s Gary?” Mel asked.

  “Our head mechanic. He was in the garage with the boys, me and Jenny were here in the showroom, with Jamie,” Frankie said.

  “You tell them the rest,” Frankie said to Jamie.

  “Well, not much to say, really, Frankie, is there? Because we were not here,” Jamie repeated slowly.

  “Please, Jamie,” Mel said quietly.

  Jamie sighed and leaned on the reception desk next to Tim. He cupped his chin in his hands, gazed at Mel and began to explain.

  “A guy comes in, foreign, and asked to test-drive the Bentley. I gets the keys, we jump in and Bob’s your Uncle; we’re off for a wee tour of the sights in the best car in the shop. Gary leaves sharp, so Frankie and Jenny are left to close up.”

  “What did the customer look like?” Tim asked.

  “Bit taller than me, light brown hair, beard.”

  “What was he wearing?”

  Jamie shrugged. “Don’t know. Nothing special. A suit?”

  “Aye. It was a grey suit, but quite sharp. I’d like one like that for in here,” Frankie added.

  “Shut up, Frankie,” Jamie whispered.

  Mel looked at Jamie and Frankie. They both looked anxious. Jamie stood about five feet eight inches tall, with fashionably styled dark hair, youth and easy looks on his side. Frankie always seemed to be the more earnest of the two. At five feet ten inches tall, he was slightly larger than his cousin, and his high cheek bones and wide-set eyes would have made him the more conventionally handsome of the two, but for the greasy sheen over his brown hair and the acne that blighted his skin.

  “Then what happened, lads?” Tim asked.

  “Well, when Gary stuck his head round the door of the garage to say he was off, Jenny told me just to go and get the twins. She’d wait and lock up with Jamie. He fancies her,” Frankie said with a smile.

  “You fancy her, do you? Have I got competition then, Jamie?” Mel teased
.

  Jamie scowled, first at Frankie and then at Mel. Then he glanced over at Frankie who spoke seriously.

  “A man came in just as I was about to leave. I asked Jenny if I should stay with her, but she said not to bother. She said I should go and get the babies. She would help the customer.”

  “When I got back, they had all buggered off and the lights were still on and the door unlocked,” Jamie added. “I was really pissed off. Then Jenny didn’t turn up this morning. That’s all we know.”

  “Except…” Frankie started.

  “Except what?” Tim asked.

  “Shut up, Frankie!” Jamie said.

  “Except what, Frankie?” Tim repeated.

  Frankie blushed. He scratched a pimple on his chin, looked nervously at the pus collected in his fingernail, and wiped it deliberately on his trousers.

  “Let me help you,” Tim went on. “Jenny sent a text to her mother to say she was the only member of staff here and a customer wanted to take a car out, so she would have to go with him. Would Jenny normally do that?”

  “Nah, not at all. There’s a car missing too. Gary forgot to log a car that was brought in for a service, and now it’s gone. I can’t think why anybody would want to take out that old bone-shaker of a Volvo,” Frankie said.

  “Can you give us details of that car?” Tim asked.

  “Old, blue, Volvo. That’s all we know.”

  “Don’t you have more details?”

  “What part of ‘Gary forgot to log it’ do you not understand, big man?” Jamie asked Tim. “Mind you, Gary said someone was looking to buy it for £8,000. I can't think why.”

  Just then the door to the showroom opened. The man who entered made Tim, with his six-foot-four rugby player’s frame, look petite. The man’s girth darkened the room like a solar eclipse. He moved menacingly towards the group around the reception desk.

  “I’m here for my car,” he stated, flatly.

  “You collecting a delivery or a repair, pal?” Jamie asked.

  “I’m not your pal. My friend left it out the back in the garage.”

  “What car is it?”

  “Blue Volvo, S60. My friend left it here. I’ve come to pick it up.”

  “Canny do that, pal,” Jamie said. “No authority to release it to anybody except the guy who brought it in, or to the man we're told might want to buy it. Our mechanic was told the agreed price is £8,000. That's the problem, see?”

  “I don’t think that’s gonny be a problem. I’ll just take it. Now.” The man moved forward forcefully.

  Tim stepped between Jamie and the man.

  “Who the hell are you?” the man asked Tim.

  “DC Timothy Myerscough, may I also introduce my colleague DC Melanie Grant.” Tim held out his hand to shake, and Mel could see that he pointedly crushed the big man’s hand in his grip. “The management is right; unless your friend left authority for you to collect the car, they are not at liberty to release the vehicle to a third party.”

  “You bastard,” the man growled at Tim. He stretched his fingers and rubbed his hand. Then he turned to Jamie, “I’ll be back, and believe me, you’ll find for sure I’m no your pal. This would never have been a problem in Mansoor’s time.” With that, the man turned on his heels and left.

  “What’s Mansoor got to do with this?” Tim asked.

  “Nothing that I know about. He’s in the big house, like your pop,” Jamie said defiantly.

  Tim ignored him.

  “He wouldn’t mention Mansoor unless there was a link,” Mel said. “And Mansoor is trouble however you want to dress it up.”

  “That’s true, Mel. Can we see your CCTV, Frankie?” Tim asked pointedly.

  “No film,” Frankie said flatly.

  “Is Gary here?” Tim asked.

  Tim and Mel did not need to spend long with Gary to take his statement. It did not add much to what they already knew. The young mechanic wiped his hands on an oily rag and apologised for not having details of the Volvo.

  “Who dropped the car off, Gary?” Mel asked.

  “I don’t know him. It wasn’t any of our regulars.”

  “What did he look like?” Tim asked.

  “The man who dropped the car off had black hair and a beard. Very smart. He said he knew Mansoor, that’s why he brought it here. But that doesn’t mean a thing now. Mansoor’s away.”

  Tim and Mel left Gary and drove back to the station.

  “You want to call the Boss and tell him what we learned at Thomson’s Top Cars?” Mel asked.

  “On his darts night? Over my dead body!” Tim replied.

  “It might be,” Mel laughed.

  ***

  Jane gathered the officers for the door-to-door interviews. Their instruction: to interview and re-interview all neighbours, and find out where they were and what they heard between seven and ten in the morning of the day George was murdered. She told them she did not care if they, or the neighbours, thought it was relevant: Jane wanted every detail. Then she called in Colin, Nadia and Rachael.

  “I need corroboration about the blue car and the man in the grey suit that Mrs Roberts mentioned, so I want you to examine the CCTV from the cameras leading to George’s place. You need to cover the time span from seven to ten am,” she said to Colin and Nadia.

  “Not the CCTV, Sarge. It’s the most boring job in the world,” Colin complained.

  “Perhaps not quite,” Jane said. “Rachael, I want you to search for all reports of stolen blue cars.”

  “I think this calls for tea,” sighed Rachael.

  “Coffee for me,” said Colin.

  “Camomile,” said Jane.

  “Who included you? Slave-driver!” Rachael joked to Jane as she went to make the drinks.

  Chapter Eight

  DCI Allan Mackay called the room to order. “People, we have lost one of our own. We will solve this murder. Expeditiously. Do you hear me?”

  “PDQ,” said Bear.

  “What was that, DC Zewedu?”

  “I said we want to catch the bastard pretty damn quick, Boss.”

  “You’re right, Bear,” Hunter added. “I want my revenge. If I have my way, this murderer won’t see freedom again.”

  “You’ll find we get the job done quicker if you all stop blethering,” Mackay snapped. “I’ll have to call a press conference today and I must have something to say. DI Wilson, can you explain where we are?”

  “Of course, Sir. DC Chan and I attended the post-mortem of George Reinbold. Doctor Sharma gave the death as occurring yesterday morning. George's alarm was set for seven and he was dead when the delivery girl arrived. Her statement confirmed her time of arrival as 10.30. George was dead by then. So we are estimating time of death at between seven and ten o'clock in the morning. The girl found the body and called the police. Forensics and the ballistics expert confirm he was shot at close range. The bullet appears to have been something like a .38. We are waiting for confirmation on that. The bullet certainly mushroomed upon impact. George didn’t stand a chance.” Hunter looked at the floor.

  “Mel and I visited Thomson’s Top Cars yesterday afternoon, Sir,” Tim said. “The receptionist, Jenny Kozlowski, is missing. Also an old blue Volvo is unaccounted for.”

  “Yes, and a large, angry customer stormed in looking for it while we were there. He said it was an S60,” Mel added.

  “Apparently it was put in for a service and then the customer said there was someone interested in buying it for £8,000. That in itself is strange, because a Volvo that old is likely only to be worth £3,000 - £4,000. I checked,” Tim said.

  “A blue Volvo? One of my witnesses saw a blue car stop near George’s home around nine in the morning,” Jane said.

  “Mel, you liaise with DS Renwick about the car. Jane, you get the door-to-doors finished today too,” Mackay said.

  “Sir,” Jane nodded.

  Mackay turned to Rachael. “DC Anderson, I want to know more about George’s cases.”

  “Y
es, Sir.”

  “How are you getting on examining the CCTV, DC Reid?”

  “Slowly, Sir,” Colin Reid replied. “There is no CCTV at George’s house, but there are cameras on the street that we can check from both directions. DC Chan is observant, so we just keep looking on.”

  “What next, DI Wilson?”

  “I am going to get a valuation of the books in George’s collection, today, Sir.”

  “That will cost a fortune, man!”

  “Not where I’m going, Sir. Tim you’re with me.”

  “You remember I’m off this afternoon, Boss?”

  “Yes, this won’t take us more than a couple of hours. We’ll leave the books and collect them with the valuation later.”

  “Do we know yet if George has family?” Mackay asked.

  “I haven’t been able to find evidence that he was married, but I haven’t finished searching for children,” Mel said.

  “And in Germany?” Hunter asked.

  “In his home there were many journals and scrap books,” Bear answered, “but they are written in German. I think that we may need to have them translated, in order to piece together George’s life, and possibly what led to his death.”

  “Call Doctor Gillian Pearson from the modern language department at Edinburgh University, Bear. She’s always our first port of call when we need a translator. Amazing linguist. If she can’t do the job, she will know someone who can,” Hunter said.

  As the meeting broke up, Mackay and Hunter agreed that the Press Conference would be arranged for noon, then Hunter and Tim headed for the car park. George’s books were still in the van. Hunter shuddered at the thought of the potential value of the contents as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

  “So, Boss, who on earth will give you a cheap valuation for a haul of valuable books like this?” Tim asked.

  “Aha, well, young Myerscough, it so happens that my father has collected rare books all his life. There is nobody who knows this market better.”

  “I thought he was a man of the cloth?”

  “He was indeed. He was a Church of Scotland minister before he retired, but his other love has always been books.”