Unsolved Page 3

  Hunter saw everyone’s heads whipping sideways, seeking out their nearest colleague, sharing surprised looks. His reaction was the same as he exchanged looks with his partner Grace before returning his gaze to St. John-Stevens. Supercilious prick, thought Hunter.

  ‘And before anyone asks if there is any intimate relationship between the pair, there is none that we are aware of. It appears Miss Budriene and Rasa have struck up a friendship following her rescue of Rasa. You could say it is an unusual friendship given their different circumstances, but there it is.’ Casting his eyes around the room again, he said, ‘And if there are no more questions, the DI will allocate you your tasks. We will reconvene here at eight o’clock this evening for debrief, unless something urgent crops up. Thank you, everyone.’

  He set off towards the door but after half a dozen steps came to a halt, turning to Hunter. ‘DS Kerr, can I see you in my office?’

  Hunter had the condemned man feeling as he made his way down the corridor to the Detective Superintendent’s office. The reinforced glass door was open, and he could see St. John-Stevens sat behind Dawn Leggate’s desk, his chin resting on clasped hands, eyes locked on him as he approached. As Hunter entered the office, he noticed that St. John-Stevens had already made himself at home; a good number of personal effects were laid out across the desk and a couple of framed photographs sat on top of the wall units.

  Dawn’s seat hasn’t even gone cold before he’s claimed it as his, Hunter thought as he studied his features. Dominic St. John-Stevens had heavy eyelids, a wide nose and protruding ears that gave him the look of a prop-forward, though Hunter could never see him in any ruck. He knew that the man before him was someone who had entered the force on the fast-track system, spending a brief spell in different departments to grasp just enough of an understanding of how things operate — though not enough to gain experience — before moving on. A Butterfly Man.

  Hunter pulled back a chair to sit down.

  ‘No need for that, Detective Sergeant Kerr. This is not going to take long.’

  Hunter stiffened, feeling the back of his neck reddening. He’s addressing me like a fucking child.

  ‘I’m guessing Detective Superintendent Leggate’s already told you that Guernsey police are conducting a thorough investigation into the death of Billy Wallace.’

  Hunter nodded.

  ‘Did she also tell you that the case has been referred to the IPCC?’

  Hunter knew he was referring to the Independent Police Complaints Commission, an independent body who investigate serious deaths following police contact. Hunter held eye contact with St. John-Stevens, opening out his hands and throwing him an ‘I’ve nothing to hide’ look.

  ‘They are also looking at Detective Superintendent Leggate’s role in all this as well. Are you aware of that?’

  Hunter responded with a shrug. He had no intention of disclosing the earlier conversation he’d had with the boss he’d worked with for the last eighteen months.

  ‘They will be looking at not only your contribution to his death but whether either of you failed in your duty to protect his life.’

  Hunter could feel himself getting het up. The blood was starting to rush between his ears. ‘Excuse me, but am I missing something here? Billy Wallace was a serial-killer. A fucking psycho. He had my eldest son as a hostage with a gun at his head and was threatening to shoot us all. Was I supposed to just stand there and let it happen?’

  St. John-Stevens unclasped his hand and pushed himself back in his chair. ‘That will be for the Guernsey police and the IPCC to determine. In the meantime, while that is going on, I think it would be best for all concerned if you were removed from your current duties.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘This is a delicate situation, DS Kerr, and I am concerned about your welfare.’

  ‘My welfare is fine.’

  ‘It’s my belief that this could affect your thinking. And I also think that you might need more flexibility to be with your family at these troubled times, and for that reason I am posting you to the cold case unit.’

  Hunter felt his heart rate pick up. ‘The cold case unit. You are joking, aren’t you?’

  ‘This is no joke, DS Kerr. This is for your own welfare.’

  ‘The cold case unit is for those who want to put their feet up. Who are ready to retire. Not for a front-line detective like me. And I’ve already told you my welfare is fine. I am well capable of juggling my present job with the care of my family.’

  ‘Well, it’s my belief that you need a less stressful job whilst you are being investigated over these serious matters. I wouldn’t be doing my job properly if I didn’t put your welfare first, so from tomorrow you will be in charge of the cold case unit.’

  Hunter had held on to St. John-Stevens’ gaze for the entirety of their conversation, and as he finished his sentence he thought he caught the flash of a spiteful sneer as he delivered the fateful decision. In a flash of anger, Hunter responded, ‘You’re loving this, aren’t you? Giving me all this HR bullshit, but I know what this is all about. This is about my snout getting killed and you trying to get me suspended. You threatened you were going to get me put back into uniform. This is your way of getting back at me, isn’t it?’

  St. John-Stevens’ face turned beetroot. It looked like he was about to explode. ‘I’m going to put this insubordination down to the stress you’re under, DS Kerr, but if you speak to me like this again, I will put you on a disciplinary. Do you understand?’

  Hunter balled his hands into tight fists. He didn’t respond.

  St. John-Stevens pushed himself forward. ‘Do you understand, DS Kerr?’

  ‘Yes,’ he spat back. ‘Are we done here? I’ve got work to do.’

  St. John-Stevens’ face grew even redder. ‘Are we done here what, DS Kerr?’

  Hunter stared at him for a second, then said, ‘Are we done here, SIR?’

  ‘That’s better, DS Kerr. You may well have had Detective Superintendent Leggate wrapped around your little finger, but not me. You’re a liability, Detective Sergeant. You take risks. Go against procedure. The cold case unit will hopefully give you time to reflect and mend your ways. This conversation is over. There’s the door.’ St. John-Stevens swept his hand dismissively.

  In that instant, a desire for vengeance coursed through Hunter. He wanted to punch the living daylights out of the jumped-up boss but knew that would be the end of his career and would be playing right into his hands. Instead, he threw him a granite stare, turned sharply on his heel and stormed out of the room, leaving the door wide open. If he’d have closed it, it would have shattered against its frame.

  Returning to the office, Hunter saw that most of his colleagues were huddled around the DI, collecting their tasks for the day. He couldn’t see his partner Grace among them and wondered where she was. He thought about hanging around and giving her the news, but decided the last thing he needed was to enter into a conversation with anyone about his fall from grace. He snatched up his briefcase and car keys and made a quick exit.

  He drove home, his head in a whirl. He was fuming. All he thought about were ways of hurting St. John-Stevens while also knowing there was no way he could carry them out if he still wanted a career. By the time he pulled on to his drive his stress levels were through the roof, a tight clamp gripping his chest.

  He was surprised to find the front door unlocked, and opening it he suddenly remembered it was Beth’s day off. Hunter entered the hallway, setting down his briefcase and taking off his shoes.

  ‘Hello.’ Beth’s voice came from the kitchen.

  ‘It’s only me,’ Hunter called back, walking through to the lounge.

  Beth poked her head around the door. ‘You’re home early.’

  ‘Lost my job.’

  She released a snort of laughter, and when Hunter didn’t respond she met his gaze. Spotting his wounded look, she said, ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘I need a beer,’ he replied, brushing past her. He went
to the fridge, pulled out a can of beer, flipped the top and took a long swallow.

  ‘This must be bad, you drinking beer at ten in the morning.’

  He took another slug, wiped residue from the side of his mouth with the back of his hand and squeezing the can, imagining he had hold of St. John-Stevens’ neck, he blurted out what had gone off.

  ‘God, Hunter. They can’t treat you like that. This is not your fault.’

  ‘Try telling that to St. John-Stevens.’ He spat out his name with venom.

  ‘Cold Case Unit!’

  ‘Cold Case Unit,’ Hunter repeated.

  After a short pause, Beth said, ‘That’s not too bad.’

  ‘It’s where those seeing out their time go. It’s a steady nine-to-five job.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not the case.’

  ‘Believe me, it is.’

  ‘But isn’t that where they look at all those historical cases?’

  ‘The unsolved ones, yes. The cases that have, for one reason or another, come to an end.’

  ‘But then that’s the precise reason why they should put someone like you in there.’

  He stared at her. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’ve seen all those programmes on telly. All those families who for years have no idea what’s happened to their loved ones, or know what’s happened but not who’s done it. Every day is a nightmare for them, and it’s dedicated officers like you who they need to ease their pain.’

  Hunter let out a loud laugh, shaking his head. He set down his can. ‘Has anyone ever told you you should be a salesperson or a diplomat? You’re already making my new job sound interesting.’

  ‘It is, Hunter. And it’s important, especially for all those people who need closure. You may think this is punishment, but I’m a firm believer in everything happening for a reason. You’re exactly the right person for that job. And right now, after all that’s gone off with this family, it’s couldn’t have come at a better time.’

  ‘It’s a pity that St. John-Stevens couldn’t say it like this to me. I might have had some respect for him.’

  ‘Hunter, right now it’s important Jonathan has more time with you. He needs you for support. I need you.’

  Beth’s words were so soothing, he could feel his anxiety lessening, the tightness in his chest easing. He no longer needed the beer.

  ‘This has worked out just right for all of us,’ Beth continued. ‘Your day will be less manic and your hours regular. This is just what we all need.’

  Hunter studied Beth’s face, re-running her words through in his mind. Even though he hated what had just happened to him, he knew she was right. He said, ‘Talking about Jonathan, has he said anything to you about Sark? I’ve had a few bits of conversation with him since we got back, asking him how he’s feeling, and all I get is, “Stop fussing, I’m fine.” Though I know he can’t be. Has he said much to you?’

  Beth shook her head. ‘I get the same. I’ve spoken with Dr Raj this morning about him, and he’s told me not to worry. He’s also going to try and pull a few strings to get me an early appointment with a child psychologist he knows.’

  Hunter knew she was talking about her colleague at the practice. He nodded. ‘Good. Even if it’s just a couple of sessions, it will help. I’ve spoken with Grace this morning about Robyn, and she says counselling helped her no end. She told me that Robyn bottled it up at first, but after twelve months of counselling she was back to her old self, with no ill effects.’ He held back the mention of the nightmares Robyn had endured and the impact on her school work. He hoped that wasn’t going to happen with Jonathan.

  Beth’s face lifted. ‘That makes me feel better.’ Suddenly, she spurred into action, vigorously rubbing her hands. ‘Do you know what, seeing as we’ll all be home for tea, I’m going to cook us a roast dinner. What are you going to do for the rest of the day? Do you have to go back into work?’

  Hunter picked up the half full can of beer and emptied it down the sink. ‘No chance. I’m owed enough time. I’m going to get changed and go for a run down to Dad’s gym and have a session with him, if that’s okay.’

  ‘Well, give him a few extra whacks from me.’

  ‘Are you still furious with him?’

  Beth pursed her lips momentarily, and then she gave him a weak smile. ‘I was until this morning, and then your mum phoned me and told me how bad he was feeling about everything, and I realised it wasn’t his fault. I guess I just needed to take it out on somebody, like you with this St. John-Stevens.’

  Hunter pulled Beth close and gave a kiss. ‘Have I told you I love you lately?’

  Hunter quickly changed out of his work clothes and into his gym gear and hit the street at a quicker pace than normal. Within ten minutes, his thoughts had gone from wanting to beat the shit out of St. John-Stevens to looking forward to sitting round the table with his family — something he hadn’t done in his own home for ages. As he pounded the last half mile to his dad’s gym, looking forward to putting in some pad and ring-time with him, he found himself thinking about his new challenge tomorrow. He was determined to make a good fist of his new job and let St. John-Stevens see he hadn’t ground him down.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Hunter slept restlessly that night, his thoughts wrestling with the images going around inside his head. It started with the memory of Billy Wallace with an arm wrapped around Jonathan’s neck, pressing a gun to his head, threatening to kill him. That was replaced quickly by the apparition of Jonathan kicking backwards, sending Billy over the edge of the cliff, falling 150 feet into the raging sea, his cries of shock and terror quickly silenced by the maelstrom of foaming water that engulfed him. These visions weren’t confined to Hunter’s dreams, they visited him when he was awake, and he just wanted them to end. He would like to be able to say the incident hadn’t affected him, but it had. Deeply. Since they had returned from Sark, he had double-checked the doors each night before going to bed and lain awake longer — listening to the sounds outside. And whenever he was with Jonathan, he watched him like a hawk.

  Hunter’s thoughts were also taken up by his conversation with St. John-Stevens, resulting in anger once more gnawing away inside him. And although he tried his best to beat away the frustration, he failed miserably, and just before 6 a.m. he stopped tossing and turning, realising it was pointless trying to get to sleep. He snuck out of bed, showered, dressed and tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen, where he made himself tea and toast.

  When he stepped outside to get in his car, he was greeted by a fine but regular drizzle of rain that shrouded the sky in a grey mist. As he drove to work his concentration was all over the place, his spirits as damp as the weather.

  Upon his arrival, the only people in the new complex were the cleaners, and in spite of feeling low he pasted on a big smile and bid them a hearty ‘good morning’ as he made his way to the MIT office. The place was empty; it was far too early for any of his colleagues to be around, and that suited him because all he wanted to do was remove the items from his desk as quickly as possible and hide himself away in his new department. Emptying the drawers, refilling the box that he’d started to empty yesterday, he hoisted it up into his arms and made his way out of the office and across reception to the opposite corridor where the Cold Case Unit was situated. It was the second room along and the door was open.

  Stepping inside, Hunter saw it was a good space with six new desks all fitted with low screens that gave the occupants their own pod, and he looked around them to see which one he could take. He was surprised to see that only one looked as if it was in use. He set down his box on the nearest desk to it and ran his eyes around the room. Four whiteboards occupied two of the walls, one of them full of contact emails and telephone and fax numbers, while the other three contained newspaper cuttings of the team’s triumphs. He recognised two of the cases — The Rotherham Shoe Rapist and the Barnsley Rapist. They brought back memories from two years earlier, when he had called upon this team to help him out
with a murder case from 1983, where no body had been found and there had been a miscarriage of justice. Help from the Unit had been invaluable and had assisted in the MIT finding missing witnesses, discovering the whereabouts of the murdered victim and tracking down the real killer. Back then they had been based in a tiny office at Maltby, and the unit had been six strong. Looking around at the spare desks, Hunter hoped that was still the case and that the empty desks were because not everyone had moved across yet.

  He re-scanned the room. To his left was a bank of filing cabinets, and sitting on top of one of them was tea-making facilities. That lifted his mood. Stepping across the room, he decided to make himself a drink while waiting for his new team to arrive.

  At 9.30 a.m. Hunter was still the only person in the office. In the two-and-a-bit hours he had been in he had made three drinks, discovered that the five desks void of items were definitely empty by checking their drawers, chosen the desk next to the one that looked to be occupied and transferred all the stuff from his box to the drawers and desktop. For the last half hour, he had spent the time reading the newspaper cuttings on the boards.

  Returning to his desk he checked his watch again, huffing loudly. He wondered where everyone was, and running his eyes across the desk next to his, he searched to see if there was a note that would indicate their whereabouts. There was none. He could feel himself getting grouchy. This was not a good start to his first day. He wondered what his colleagues in MIT were up to with the new investigation. At lunchtime, he would track down Grace and catch up with her out of interest. On that thought, he could feel anger against St. John-Stevens creeping up inside him again and he closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath, willing it away.

  ‘Sorry, Sarge.’