Unsolved

  UNSOLVED

  DS Hunter Kerr Investigations

  Book Seven

  Michael Fowler

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  A NOTE TO THE READER

  ALSO BY MICHAEL FOWLER

  PROLOGUE

  The Comfort Inn was a low-budget motel close to a small industrial estate. None of the views from the twenty bedrooms were spectacular, and the best anyone staying there could hope for was that they didn’t get allocated any of the five rear ground-floor ones that faced the four rubbish bins and eight-foot security wall. The conditions were basic but clean, and at £39.99 per night breakfast wasn’t provided, though a Wetherspoons next door opened up at 7.30 a.m. to sate the travellers’ hunger. It was used mainly by visiting salespeople when it was too late or too far for them to drive home, and was especially popular with those embarking upon secret sexual liaisons, who only wanted to use a room for a few hours with no questions asked.

  On almost a daily basis for two weeks, the killer had been watching and following the young woman to this place. Some days she had been there two or three times. Several times it had been with the same man. She had no pattern or routine to her visits, though lunchtime was by far her busiest time. Today was no exception. He had followed her in the taxi from the pub she frequented, keeping his distance and pulling into the car park just as she was climbing out. Her punter, a big overweight man in his forties, who he had seen her with before, was waiting for her by the front door.

  The killer drove into a space, turned off the engine and kept sight of her in his rear-view mirror. She was just guiding her customer through the door. The killer checked his watch and slunk down in his seat for the wait.

  It wasn’t too long — fifty-two minutes. He saw the big man come out through the door, zipping up his coat before climbing into a dirty maroon Renault Clio and driving away. The killer knew she wouldn’t be too long in leaving herself — a quick shower before heading back to the pub. He pulled on latex gloves and his baseball cap and climbed out of the car, sauntering casually across the car park, his chin tucked deep into his chest. As he approached the front, he concentrated his gaze on reception. There was no one there. He knew that was typical. Throughout the day, except for the two cleaners, who were usually gone by 12.30 a.m., there was only ever one person working reception, but they also had other tasks to perform and so were there only when a customer appeared.

  He slipped in through the door, his head still hung low, and headed for the stairs. On the first-floor landing where double doors led into the corridor, he halted. He knew that beyond the doorway, up to his right, a security camera was mounted. He pushed open a door, took out a roll of pre-cut duct-tape, and peeled off a small strip. With one foot over the threshold, he reached up, feeling for the base of the camera. Finding it, he fastened the piece over its lens. By the time they realise they have a problem, I’ll be gone, he said to himself.

  Confident now, pulling off his cap, he replaced it with the mask he had in his coat pocket and began his stroll along the corridor. At the last door on his left before the cleaner’s cupboard — the room she always booked — he came to a standstill. Pressing an ear to the door, he listened. He could hear her moving around inside. Breaking into a grin that no one could see, he rapped on the door. This is going to be fun.

  CHAPTER ONE

  It was Hunter’s first day back at work since the dramatic happenings on Sark, and a lot of things were playing on his mind as he dressed. He had wanted to get in early, but he was running behind schedule. He hurriedly fastened the collar of his shirt and ran up the knot of his tie, quickly checking his appearance in the wardrobe mirror. That’ll do, he told himself, taking his suit jacket off its hanger and draping it over his arm.

  Stepping out of the bedroom he almost collided with Beth, who was anxiously chivvying their sons, Jonathan and Daniel. She threw him a scowl as she dodged past. It had been three days since their return from Sark, and things were still tense in the household following the events there. The past two evenings Hunter had tried to discuss the trauma the family had been through with Beth, but on each of those occasions she had broken down in tears the moment he began mentioning anything about their ordeal. He understood her anxiety. Things could have ended so differently. He might not be here. Worse still, Jonathan might not be either. And then there was his dad, Jock, who’d been wounded by a stray bullet. Fucking Billy Wallace.

  Hunter was trying his best to support Beth, but the strain of not being able to resolve matters was showing. Yesterday he had suffered the most intense migraine, making him sick. This morning, thanks to another restless night, he still had the remnants of a headache. He really could have done with taking the day off, but he had so much to do.

  ‘Everything okay?’ Hunter asked, trying to catch Beth’s eye. What he really meant was, Is Jonathan okay?

  ‘Yeah. Seems okay,’ she responded. Beth was on the same wavelength.

  ‘I’ll ring you later,’ he said, descending the stairs.

  ‘What about breakfast?’

  ‘I’ll grab some tea and toast at work.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yep, sure. I’ll catch you tonight. We’ll try and talk. Love you, you know.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I might feel better tonight.’

  Hunter sensed the tenseness in her reply. He picked up his briefcase and unlocked the front door, calling out ‘Cheerio’, and pulled the door behind him. He didn’t want to leave things like this, but he had no choice; his boss, Detective Superintendent Dawn Leggate, had messaged him last night telling him she wanted to see him first thing in the morning and that she had also fixed up an appointment for him to see someone from HR. He knew that was just the start. Professional Standards — the rubber heel squad — would want to interview him about what went off on Sark, in spite of him giving a detailed account to detectives from Guernsey. As he climbed into his car, he let off a heavy sigh. He was stressed before he even got to work.

  Hunter entered the car park of the new state-of-the-art complex which was now home to some of South Yorkshire’s most highly trained police officers, including the major incident team of which he was the Detective Sergeant of Syndicate One. Hunter should have moved here with his team a fortnight ago, but the escape of serial-killer Billy Wallace from Barlinnie Prison — who was hell-bent on revenge after being imprisoned for the attempted murder of Hunter’s father — changed all that. Instead, he and his family had been forced to flee, choosing to spend time with Beth’s parents on Sark where they lived, believing the remote island would be a place where they could all relax until Billy had been caught. Unfortunately, it had proved to be anything but that, and he was now dealing with the aftermath.

  Just before fleeing to the island, Hunter had managed to visit the new offices and source his desk, though he hadn’t had time to unpack all his personal things from the old office. He’d already determined as he drove that unpacking them was his number one priority, even before he went to see the gaffer.

  As he rode the lift to the first floor, he wondered what his reception would be. He had already spoken with Tony Bullars and Mike Sampson from his team, and held several lengthy telephone conversations with his working partner Grace Marshall as to what had hap
pened on Sark, but he knew there still would be questions from other members of MIT he would have to face.

  Hunter swiped his card through the electronic lock and made his way along the corridor. He could smell the newness of the carpet and fresh paint. Surprisingly, he found the office empty, and he cast his eyes around the spacious room that housed workstations for a dozen detectives. The entire left side was floor to ceiling reinforced UV protection glass that bathed the room in light without any glare and gave him a view across the Dearne Valley for miles. The desk he’d earmarked for himself was next to the window, and he saw that no one had hijacked it while he had been away — his box still lay on top.

  Looking at all the other desks, Hunter could see everyone had settled in. Until his eyes settled on Barry Newstead’s space. Seeing his desk triggered an explosion of grief that overcame him without warning. Except for a computer and phone, Barry’s was bare. Hunter gulped hard, tears welling up in his eyes. Barry’s death — murder — just over a month ago had slipped to the back of his thoughts given recent events, and seeing his empty desk suddenly ignited the memory of that fateful evening when Barry had lost his life — the flashback as clear as if it had happened yesterday. They had been celebrating the capture of ‘The Beast’, and a few of them had just left the pub and were walking across the car park when a speeding car had come tearing towards them, bearing down on Detective Superintendent Dawn Leggate. Barry had been the first to react, throwing himself at the boss, saving her life. But in doing so, he had taken the full impact. The vision of him being tossed in the air like a rag doll followed by the sickening crunch as Barry smashed into the ground had visited Hunter many times since then. Together with the incident on Sark, he knew it was something that was going to haunt him forever.

  As Hunter took a last watery glimpse of Barry’s empty desk, he felt his spirits drop even lower as his thoughts drifted back to times they had spent together. Barry had been a seasoned detective with an exemplary reputation when Hunter had started the job back in 1991, and he had mentored him when he had joined CID three years later. They had instantly hit it off, forming a formidable partnership that many detectives were envious of. Barry not only became a loyal and trusted colleague but also a friend, and when he retired in bitter circumstances Hunter managed to persuade him to return to policing as a Civilian Investigator in MIT. Although Hunter had a new partner in Grace, he and Barry had still managed to work together, picking up where they’d left off, dabbling with their own form of justice from time to time. In that moment, some of those instances whirled inside Hunter’s head, causing him to smile. I’ll miss you, big man.

  Hunter knuckle-dabbed his eyes, trudged across the room and dumped his briefcase on the floor beside his desk. Pulling out his chair, he began unpacking. First things out of the box were his handcuffs and parva spray. He confined those to his top drawer. Then he pulled out a handful of his case files — duplicate copies of cases he had recently worked on. He always kept copies of his most interesting jobs, telling himself that when he retired he would write a book about his exploits. He looked at a couple of the titles, fanned through the pages and then placed them in his bottom drawer. He was halfway down the box when his desk phone rang.

  ‘Detective Sergeant Hunter Kerr,’ he announced, snatching up the handset.

  ‘I thought I heard you mooching around.’ It was Dawn Leggate.

  ‘I’m just sorting my desk, and then I was going to pop down and see you.’ Hunter paused and added, ‘Where is everyone, by the way? No one’s come in yet.’

  ‘An incident came in late last night. Vulnerable missing person who’s disappeared without reason, and we believe something might have happened to her. There’s a briefing at ten, so no one will be in until nine. I need to speak with you before the others come in.’

  Hunter sensed an edge to her voice. She didn’t sound her usual buoyant self. ‘That sounds ominous, boss.’

  ‘Just nip down to my office, will you?’

  ‘Two minutes, boss.’ Hunter put down the phone, his stomach flipping over. This didn’t sound good. He wondered if he was going to be suspended for the Sark incident. He had already been suspended once this year for operating outside the rules, which had got an informant of his killed, and this was the last thing he needed right now. With a heavy sigh, he glimpsed his still half-full box. His day wasn’t getting any better.

  Detective Superintendent Dawn Leggate’s office lay at the far end of the corridor. The front of it was constructed entirely of green smoked glass panels and as Hunter approached, he could just make out his boss’s silhouette behind her desk. He rapped on the toughened glass door and pushed it open without waiting to be told to enter. He was taken aback to see her desk and bookshelves bare, and spotting a box of her stuff on the floor and two cardboard boxes brimming with her personal things on her desk, he wondered what was happening. Stepping inside, he dipped his head towards the boxes. ‘Going somewhere, boss? You got promoted while I’ve been away?’

  ‘I wish,’ she answered, pointing Hunter towards the chair in front of her desk. Her soft Scottish brogue lacked its usual chirpy notes.

  ‘Something to do with me?’

  Dawn’s lips pursed. ‘No, nothing to do with you. Let’s just say things have been going on behind my back that I only found out about late yesterday. It had been my intention to welcome you back this morning, Hunter, but instead I’m afraid I’m saying my cheerios.’

  Hunter gazed across the desk. His boss looked as though she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. ‘Gosh, boss, I’m so sorry to hear this.’ Pausing momentarily, he asked, ‘Is it something you can talk about?’

  ‘To be honest, Hunter, I had intended just saying a quick goodbye to everyone and then going, but I thought that knowing you lot, you’d come up with a whole raft of rumours that would bear no resemblance to the truth whatsoever.’ She gave a quick burst of laughter and continued, ‘And so I thought if I shared it with you, you could break the news when I’m gone.’ Pausing, she took a deep breath and said, ‘The bottom line is that the Chief thinks I need some time out with what’s going on with my ex — the trial coming up and everything.’ She took another deep breath. ‘That’s the official response, but between you and me they’ve never been happy with a wee Scottish lassie in charge of MIT, and they’re using what’s gone off with my ex as an excuse to side-line me. The rumours are that I’m not up to it. That it’s too big a job for me.’

  ‘But you’ve done a great job here, boss. What about all the recent investigations? The capture of The Beast for one? It made huge headlines.’

  Dawn flipped her hand dismissively. ‘Counts for nothing, Hunter.’ She sucked in a gulp of air. ‘I’m going to be bad press when the court case starts, with my ex-husband killing one of my own detectives and seriously injuring the Force Crime Manager.’

  Hunter knew she was talking about Michael Robshaw, his former boss. Michael and she had got together eighteen months ago — following her separation from her husband Jack — during their involvement in a joint operation. Unbeknown to her, Jack had followed her to Yorkshire, begun stalking her and upon discovering her relationship with Michael had tried to kill him by mowing him down with his car. Michael had been left with serious leg and hip injuries and was still off work. Following that, Jack had tried to do the same thing to Dawn, and that’s when Barry had been killed. Jack’s trial was due to start in one month’s time.

  ‘That’s unfair, boss.’

  ‘Tell me about it. Shit happens even at Detective Superintendent level.’

  ‘Can’t you do anything? Can’t Michael pull any strings?’

  Dawn sighed. ‘He probably could have done if he’d been around. Sadly, that isn’t the case. Michael can officially retire in eighteen months, and they’ve offered him a medical pension with immediate effect because it’s going to take him that long to be fit again. They’ve already lined up someone to take over as Force Crime Manager.’ She paused and added, ‘By the way, th
at’s for your ears only. What I’ve just told you is not official until next week. Please keep that to yourself.’

  Hunter nodded.

  She continued, ‘The die is cast, as they say.’

  ‘So, where are you going?’

  ‘They’re giving me a desk job in headquarters, heading up the policy unit to give me time to prepare for the case against Jack. At least that’s what they’re saying. What happens after the trial, I have no idea. If it wasn’t for Michael, I’d hand in my notice and go back to Scotland.’

  ‘I’m so sorry for you, boss. We’ll really miss you.’

  ‘You’ll miss Miss Jean Brodie?’

  Hunter looked at her, his lips parting.

  She let out a sharp laugh. ‘Oh, I know what you all call me. I find it quite fetching, actually.’

  Hunter smiled with her. ‘It was said with affection, boss.’

  ‘I’d be very disappointed if I hadn’t got a nickname. At least it means I’ve made my mark.’

  Hunter gave a nod. There was silence between them for a short while, and then Hunter said, ‘Why are you telling me all this?’

  ‘Because this is going to affect you as well.’

  ‘Oh!’ Hunter sat up sharply.

  ‘The person replacing me is DCI St. John-Stevens. He’s starting this morning. He’ll be taking briefing on the new case that came in last night.’

  The manner in which she pronounced his name — Sinjin-Stevens — grated on Hunter as much as the man himself. A grim shadow suddenly moved through his mind, and his thoughts went into tail-spin.

  ‘Something else I need to make you aware of.’

  Her comment brought back his attention. ‘You mean there’s more bad news?’

  Dawn gave him a light-hearted smile, and then her mouth set tight. ‘Guernsey Police are conducting an extra investigation into what happened on Sark.’

  ‘But they know what happened. I’ve given them a detailed statement,’ Hunter interjected. ‘What do you mean an extra investigation?’