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  ‘Because it’s a UK detective involved, and someone was killed in extraordinary circumstances, they want to dot all the i’s and cross all the t’s, so to speak. That’s the official line they’re saying. Specifically, they’re also looking into my role in this. Why I agreed for you to go there in the first place instead of putting you in a safe-house. It’s me they’re after, Hunter, not you. But you could get caught in the cross-fire, I’m afraid. That’s also why we’re having this conversation.’

  Hunter’s feet felt leaden as he trudged back to the office. St. John-Stevens. That’s all I fucking need.

  Entering the office, his thoughts were interrupted by the sight of his partner Grace just setting down her bag on her desk. Her face lit up when she saw him and she hurried across, embracing him.

  ‘It’s so good to see you. I was really worried about you.’ Grace let him go and took a step back, eyeing him up and down. ‘You look well. None the worse for wear at any rate. Are you feeling okay?’

  Hunter felt a jolt of emotion that made him gulp. Swallowing hard, catching himself, he latched on to her gaze. Her smile as ever was radiant and welcoming. He noticed her dark hair was braided again, like it used to be when she was a rookie cop. It suited her. She was wearing a dark blue fitted jacket and matching slacks with an orange blouse. Designer fashion, as always.

  She slipped off her jacket and draped it over the back of her chair. ‘How’s Beth and your family? How’s Jonathan bearing up?’ She was rattling off the questions without giving Hunter time to respond. She stopped and held up a finger. ‘I’ll make us a drink, and you can tell me everything.’

  Dropping into his chair, Hunter watched Grace making her way across the room to the filing cabinets where the kettle and cups were.

  ‘I bet it was a nightmare for you, wasn’t it?’ she called back, checking the kettle had enough water. She clicked it on and picked out two mugs.

  ‘I’ve certainly had better holidays.’

  Grace laughed. ‘Have they found Billy’s body yet?’

  ‘Not that I know of.’

  ‘Well, good riddance to him, that’s what I say. Nobody will miss him. How are Beth and Jonathan bearing up?’

  ‘Beth’s full of anger at the moment. She’s still blaming Dad for all of this, and she’s giving me the cold shoulder because I won’t agree with her.’

  ‘She cares about you, that’s all. It could have ended so badly, don’t forget.’

  ‘I’ll never forget. I’ve hardly slept since we got back.’

  ‘What about Jonathan?’

  ‘He seems to be fine. A little quiet, but he appears to be coping with it better than us.’

  ‘That’s kids for you. What about counselling? Have you thought about it?’

  ‘That’s something we have talked about. Beth’s going to have a word with someone she used to work with who’s now with mental health services. See if she can pull any strings and get an early appointment.’

  ‘Good. It helped Robyn no end.’

  The mention of Grace’s eldest daughter’s name triggered memories from two years ago, when fifteen-year-old Robyn had been snatched outside her school by serial-killer Gabriel Wild — The Demon — who held her hostage, threatening to take her life. It ended with Robyn being rescued and the Demon killed. A similar scenario had played out to that on Sark, with Hunter’s son Jonathan. It prompted him to say, ‘I’ve never really asked you about this, but how did Robyn cope after what happened to her?’

  Grace cocked her head. ‘I thought she was fine at first. She showed no signs of anything until about six weeks after her ordeal. Then she started having the most awful nightmares, and there were times in the day she would just break down and cry. She would also fly off the handle at the most minor thing. We had an awful time with her. Her schooling especially suffered. The Force helped me out. They put me in touch with a counsellor called Simon. He was brilliant. We started off with weekly sessions, and she had six of those and then she went monthly. Within a year, she was back to her old self. She’s now doing well at college and the nightmares have stopped.’ Grace crossed her fingers. ‘I have to confess it affected me longer than her. And there were times when I’d take things out on David for no reason. When I look back, he must have wondered at times why he married me. I still think about it from time to time, how differently it could have ended, even two years down the line.’

  ‘I didn’t know that, Grace.’

  She shrugged her shoulders and then poured boiling water into the mugs. ‘They’re my problems, not anyone else’s. I cope.’ Stirring a teabag, she added, ‘I’m sure Jonathan will be fine. He’s like his dad, made of strong stuff.’ She threw Hunter a smile. ‘I can speak with Beth if it will help?’

  ‘As you can imagine, it’s been a bit manic since we’ve been back. Things have not stopped. I’ve been having to deal with daily phone calls from Guernsey, and I’ve been worrying about the press getting wind of the incident, which hasn’t helped. Me and Beth haven’t really had time to sit down and talk. When we do, I’ll let you know. Thank you.’

  Grace ambled back and set down his mug of tea. She touched his shoulder. ‘That’s what buddies are for. You supported me when I needed it.’

  Hunter felt himself getting emotional again. He lowered his gaze, his eyes filling up.

  ‘What’s the gaffer say to you this morning? Has she been supportive?’

  Hunter squeezed his eyes and then looked across the desks. ‘She’s got her own problems. She’s just dropped me a right bombshell.’ Pausing, he added, ‘Three, actually.’

  Grace threw him a puzzled look. ‘Oh!’

  ‘She’s told me that Guernsey are conducting a more thorough investigation into the incident.’

  ‘Well, that’s not going to bother you, is it? It’s straight up self-defence from what you’ve told me. Billy Wallace threatened to kill Jonathan, took a shot at your dad and went over the edge of the cliff and into the sea when you tackled him. That, in my book, is a cut and dried case.’

  Hunter nodded. It wasn’t strictly the truth, but it was what he had told the Guernsey Police, and it was close enough to the truth. At this moment in time, his only thoughts were on protecting Jonathan. He replied, ‘You’d think so, but they might be thinking it wasn’t self-defence and that I deliberately pushed him over the cliff and into the sea.’

  Grace’s face took on a phoney stunned look. ‘You didn’t, did you?’

  Hunter burst into laughter. ‘No, of course not! But you can bet your bottom dollar that’s what they’ll be checking. And that’s worrying me for Jonathan’s sake. I don’t want him questioned again. He’s been through enough.’

  ‘They won’t, Hunter. They’ll see this for what exactly it is.’

  ‘I hope so. I just want this putting to bed.’ Pausing, he said, ‘The boss is also thinking this might not be just about me. That there might be some underlying factor, someone scrutinising her capability. She also thinks they’ll be looking at the role she played in it all.’

  ‘Her role?’ Grace questioned, frowning.

  ‘Why she allowed me to go there instead of putting us all in a safe-house here.’

  ‘Because Beth’s mum and dad live there and it was the easiest solution, for Christ’s sake. And it was Beth’s idea anyway, wasn’t it? That’s all she has to tell them, surely.’

  ‘I think it’s a little bit more complex than that.’

  ‘It’s not complex. It’s someone just trying to cover their backs. It does make me sick sometimes.’

  Hunter smiled. It would normally be him talking like this.

  ‘What are the other two bombshells?’

  ‘She’s being moved.’

  ‘What?’ Grace locked eyes with him. ‘Because of Sark?’

  Hunter shrugged his shoulders. ‘She’s not sure. She thinks someone’s got it in for her. She says that the top brass are using what went off with her ex, Jack, and his forthcoming trial as an excuse for giving her a less high-profile
role. They’re giving her a desk job in headquarters. Policy.’

  ‘Policy! God, she’ll hate that. What an absolute waste of her skills. Can’t she refuse?’

  ‘Apparently, it’s a done deal. I’ve just come from her office. She’s already boxed up. It’s happening today.’

  ‘Crikey.’ Grace inhaled deeply. ‘Who’s replacing her?’

  ‘That’s the third bombshell.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  Temporary Detective Superintendent Dominic St. John-Steven’s entrance into MIT brought about a hushed response from the two syndicates of detectives in the room. He was only five feet nine inches but carried himself a lot taller. Dressed immaculately in a Harris tweed three-piece suit, everyone’s eyes followed him to the front of the podium, where he stopped in front of the blank incident boards.

  Hunter eyed him up and down. His brown hair was shorter than when he’d last seen him, and he now sported a closely cropped beard. Hunter zoned in on his gaze, waiting for the SIO to make eye contact, wondering if it would stir a reaction from him. The last time they had locked eyes was six months ago across an interview table, when St. John-Stevens had been a DI with Professional Standards. The DI had grilled him about the killing of an informant from Hunter’s drug squad days. Hunter had been conducting his own enquiries into who had mown down his former boss Michael Robshaw, and believing it was linked to a drug gang, he had contacted a past informant and fixed up a meet. The meeting place was a back-street derelict engineering office they had used many times to trade information. Hunter, believing he had taken all precautions, had headed over there with Barry — without telling anyone and without a trained handler — not knowing that two gang members were following his informant. He was shot dead before the meet happened. Hunter and Barry had violated informant handling policy big-style, and off-record, after their interview, St. John-Stevens had accused them of being to blame for the informant’s death and told Hunter he was going to make sure he was put back in uniform. Hunter had told him to ‘fuck off’ and Barry had responded by calling him a ‘jumped-up little wanker.’ It had not ended well. He and Barry had been suspended.

  Afterwards, Dawn Leggate had given him the biggest dressing-down in his career, but she had also supported his decision-making and within a week had got the judgement overturned. He and Barry were both re-instated. Hunter had later learned that St. John-Stevens had been furious that his recommendation to suspend them had been usurped by Dawn and had tried to get the ruling reversed but failed. It had left a very bitter taste with all parties, and Hunter suddenly wondered if St. John-Stevens was responsible for Dawn’s enforced move; he had a lot of high-level backing, including the Police and Crime Commissioner, who was his uncle. In that moment, as Hunter’s gaze lingered on his new boss, he felt extremely vulnerable.

  St. John-Stevens made an attempt at adjusting the knot of his tie, dusted invisible flecks from the front of his tweed jacket and loudly cleared his throat. ‘Good morning, everyone, I am sure you will all know by now that from today I am replacing Detective Superintendent Leggate, and I am sure from the jungle-drums you will have already heard things about me. All I ask is that for the next week or so you put to one side the rumours you’ve heard until you’ve got to know me better.’ He paused, slowly roaming his eyes around the room. For a moment they fastened on Hunter, and he could have sworn he caught the faint hint of a mischievous smirk creasing St. John-Stevens’ mouth, but in a split-second it was gone.

  The Temporary Detective Superintendent snatched away his gaze, picked up a marker pen, wrote OPERATION HYDRA up on the incident board, stabbed at the sentence and turned to face the team. ‘Ladies and gents, this is your new investigation of which I have the pleasure of being the SIO.’ Below the title he scribed, VICTIM: RASA KATILIENE and then continued his address. ‘Rasa Katiliene is twenty years old and we believe she is from Lithuania. Exactly seven days ago today, at just after eleven in the morning, she left thirty-one Angel Court, where she had been staying with her friend, a Miss Janina Budriene, telling her she was going to The Junction pub here in Barnwell and that she would see her later that evening in the pub and buy her a drink. Miss Budriene was working a late shift that day at the care home where she was employed, finishing at eight p.m., and she went to the pub, arriving around eight-thirty, to find Rasa wasn’t there as promised. She hung around until ten and when she didn’t show, went home. She has not seen her or heard from her since.’

  Taking a deep breath, pursing his lips, he drifted his gaze around the room again. ‘Our witness, Miss Budriene, has only known Rasa for seven months. She met her at The Junction, going to her aid when she saw her being beaten up by a man outside the pub, scaring him away by threatening to call the police. She offered to take Rasa to the hospital, which she refused, and so she took her home, cleaned her up and let her stay the night after Rasa told her that the man who beat her up was her pimp and that if she went home that night she feared another beating from him. The story Rasa told her that night was that she had been tricked into coming to this country on the promise of work in the hotel industry but instead had been forced to work as a sex-worker by a Lithuanian man and woman who she only knows as Matis and Ugne, and they had taken away her passport. Rasa told her that it was Matis who had beaten her because she hadn’t earned enough money that day.

  ‘Miss Budriene has told officers that Rasa stayed for two days, after which Rasa told her she must go back to the couple because she was afraid of bringing trouble to her. Miss Budriene tried to persuade her to go to the police, but Rasa told her she was afraid of being locked up for being an illegal and that they wouldn’t believe her anyway because of what she did. Miss Budriene said she felt sorry for her and so told Rasa that she could come and stay anytime she was in trouble. Since making that offer, she says Rasa has stayed at her flat on the occasional night and together they have gone around Rotherham drinking a few times with Miss Budriene’s work colleagues.

  ‘Miss Budriene reported Rasa missing three days ago after not hearing from her for four days. She says this is very unusual because even if she doesn’t see her, they speak to each other almost daily on the phone, she mainly checking on Rasa’s welfare and what she’s up to. When Rasa didn’t turn up at the pub seven nights ago, Miss Budriene rang her mobile several times but it went to voicemail and so she left her a message to contact her. She did that for four consecutive days and then her phone went dead. Three days ago, she went to The Junction to see if she could see Rasa and ask if anyone had seen her, but no one had. Convinced that something had happened to her, she rang 101 and reported her missing. Officers taking that report have made their own enquiries, and the bottom line is that Rasa has not been seen for one whole week and her phone is offline, and given what we know about Rasa Katiliene, the belief is that she is either being held against her will or has come to some harm.’

  St. John-Stevens scanned the room for several seconds, a studious look on his face. Then with his marker pen he wrote on the board ‘POI’, the abbreviation for Person(s) of Interest, adding beneath it the names MATIS and UGNE. ‘Rasa told our witness that these are the two people who brought her to this country from Lithuania. Given what she told Miss Budriene, we have to consider the likelihood that Rasa has been trafficked here for the purpose of sexual exploitation. And given that Rasa has told our witness that she lives with them, it is imperative that we discover who this man and woman are and where they live.

  ‘Officers have spoken with the manager of The Junction pub and he has confirmed that he knows Rasa, that she is an almost daily visitor to the pub, and that the last time he saw her she was talking with a heavy-set man in his late forties, early fifties, who he doesn’t know but has seen in the pub previously. He didn’t see if Rasa left with the man, but he hasn’t seen either of them since. He was asked if he knew anyone called Matis, but he says not, and so we can’t confirm whether the man was Matis or not. He has also been asked about Rasa being assaulted, and although he has confirmed he is
aware of it, he did not witness it. He has told officers that the information came to him from our witness Miss Budriene.’

  St. John-Stevens let out a heavy breath. ‘So where are we at?’ He paused. ‘Well, according to the manager of The Junction pub, we know Rasa Katiliene was in there after she left our witness’s home a week ago and that she was last seen in the pub talking with a heavy-set man in his late forties or early fifties. After that we have no other sightings of her. We also know from Miss Budriene’s phone record that the mobile number Rasa used to contact her was a pay-as-you-go and that the phone is now offline. At present, we have no idea what Rasa looks like other than the description given to us by Miss Budriene. Indeed, we do not know if that is her real name, though there seems to be no reason why she should give our witness a false one.’

  He gave another pause. ‘Your tasks are to confirm the identity of the woman we know as Rasa and trace her last movements. Where did she go after she left The Junction pub? Who is the man she was last seen talking to? As far as we know, she has no vehicle. Did she use public transport? Who are the Lithuanian couple, Matis and Ugne, and where do they live? We need to determine if there is CCTV at the pub and also on buildings and shops nearby.’

  He bullet-pointed the tasks up on the board and then set aside the marker, returning to his audience. ‘It would be fair to say that we are in catch up. Rasa Katiliene leads a chaotic lifestyle, but she is also vulnerable if what she has told Miss Budriene is true; given the fact that she hasn’t been seen or spoken to for the last seven days, we have to assume that something sinister has happened to her. She may have been abducted — she could even be dead — so it is imperative we move quickly on this. Are there any questions?’

  ‘Is our witness, Miss B, a sex-worker, Guv?’ It was Mike Sampson asking the question.

  ‘Miss Budriene is not a sex-worker as far as we know. She is Polish, has been living in this country for two and a half years and is a care assistant in a nursing home in town.’ He paused and added, ‘And I would prefer to be addressed as ‘sir’ in the future.’