Coming, Ready or Not (D.S. Hunter Kerr Book 4) (15 page)

‘
There’s a letter come for you.’ Michael jerked his head sideways, aiming a look towards a low unit by the back door. ‘Personal,’ he added.

‘
Personal?’ she repeated, diverting her gaze to where she spied a solitary white envelope propped against the fruit bowl.

Michael nodded and with raised eyebrows said,
‘Looks official.’

Dawn took a
slug of her wine, set down her glass, and sidled across to the opposite side of the kitchen. Picking up the typed addressed envelope she turned it over, inspecting it, to see if it gave any clues as to where it had come from. There was none. She tore open the flap and lifted out the contents. It was a single sheet of typed paper on headed notepaper.

‘
It’s from Jack’s solicitors,’ she announced without looking up, immersing herself in the print. Two weeks ago she had filed for a divorce, citing adultery as the reason. As her eyes danced across the words and she began to take in the thread of the letter she could feel herself getting anxious. As she finished reading the last paragraph that feeling of anxiousness had turned to one of anger. Her chest tightened and with a viperous cry she loudly spat out, ‘The bastard.’

Michael met her
hate-filled eyes. ‘What’s he done?’

‘
What’s he done. What’s he fucking done!’ she took a deep breath. ‘He’s only cited me for unreasonable behaviour. Unreasonable fucking behaviour. And he wants half my fucking house. He didn’t even put a penny into it. My gran left me that house. That’s my house.’ Crushing the letter and envelope in a vice-like grip she marched back to where she had set down her glass. She snatched it up and downed the remainder of her wine in one gulp.

She heaved an exasperated sigh.
‘To be honest, I suppose I should have expected this.’

‘
Oh why’s that.’

‘
He tried to call me a couple of times but I’ve cut him off. And he text me last weekend. He’s been made redundant and he asked if he could move back into the house as I wasn’t using it.’

Michael tilted his head.
‘And?’

‘
I’m afraid I wasn’t very polite to him. I told him to go forth and multiply.’

Michael smile
d. ‘That’s my girl.’

She snapped,
‘I could strangle the scrawny fucker!’ Setting down her glass, she pushed it forward, inviting Michael to pour another. ‘Well he’s going to get an almighty fucking shock coming.’

M
ichael poured out another measure of wine. ‘I don’t want to add to your burden, but he just might be able to claim half of it. That happened with me when I divorced.’

Dawn flashed a wicked smile.
‘Nae chance. I tied it up years ago in trust for my goddaughter. Better than any pre-nuptual.’

Michael checked the food he had been stirring and turned down the gas. He returned his gaze.
‘If it’s any help, I know a good hit-man. Cheaper than a solicitor.’

Taking in
his words she examined his face over the rim of her once more empty glass. The look he displayed was earnest. But it was only momentarily. Within a few seconds his expression had cracked to be replaced by one displaying a wide grin.

‘
And do you know, for a minute there I was going to take to take you up on your offer.’

They both started to laugh.

For Dawn the laughter had been a long time coming.

Then the phone rang in the hall
.

- ooOoo -

D
ay Ten: 27th March.

The office was deserted. Hunter was the first one in.

Closing the door to with one shoulder,
for a brief moment he rested against the set of double-doors, his eyes panning around the office, taking in the peace and calm, though he knew that in another half hour this place would be anything but. Once the troops got in it would become a beehive of activity; workers at their desks, sifting through statements and evidence, making phone calls, discussing tactics, and all of them with one determined focus – catching a killer, or given recent events, two killers.

Suddenly his eyes stalled.
At the front of the room, standing shoulder-to-shoulder were the incident boards detailing the murders of Gemma Cooke, Elisabeth Bertolutti and his once beloved Polly Hayes. The sight of them together took him by surprise. He had expected Elisabeth’s and Polly’s to have been transferred to the new incident room, in readiness for the morning briefing.

As he scrutinised them he let out a
crestfallen sigh. It looked as though there was going to be a delay again he mumbled to himself. Though, he was pleased about one thing, he saw that the boards had been updated. As well as full victim details, time-frames had been revised, and appendant to the information were photographs. In the case of Polly’s board, though he couldn’t make out the contents written upon it, there certainly appeared to be a lot of information on there. He rocked himself forward and set off across the room to get a closer look.

Hunter had just made it to the front of the room when he heard the office doors clatter
behind him. Snatching a glance back over his shoulder he hadn’t expected to be seeing Detective Superintendent Leggate coming through the gap; she didn’t normally come in this early. He saw that her arms were laden with paperwork and she was using a crooked elbow to keep one door open while she edged through.

‘
Morning, Hunter, I thought you’d be first in,’ she greeted, forging her way towards him with a spring in her step. She stopped close by his side, letting out a groan as she dropped the bundle of papers on a nearby desk. Then she began unbuttoning her cashmere coat.

‘
Glad I’ve caught you alone.’ She nodded towards the wipe boards, ‘I bet you’re wondering why all three incident boards are still here, aren’t you?’

Hunter locked onto her eyes.
‘I was actually, yes. Don’t tell me we’ve lost the new incident room, just like we did at Rotherham?’

She returned a grin,
‘No, nothing of the sort. I got a phone call last night from DI Scaife. They’ve been left here for a reason. There’s a strong possibility we could be looking at one job.’

‘
One job!’

Dawn finished unbuttoning her  overcoat and heaved it off her shoulders.
Then folding it she placed it over her one arm and picked back up her pile of papers. ‘It’s looking that way. He’s doing some of the briefing this morning so I don’t want to steal his thunder.’ She still held Hunter’s gaze. ‘Are you going to be all right working on Polly’s murder?’

‘
Yeah sure, why?’ He gave her an apprehensive look. ‘You’re not worried about my involvement in the Tom Hagan incident, are you?’

She shook her head.
‘Goodness me, no. That wasn’t your doing. What DC Hagan did was of his own doing.’

‘
Are you referring to what happened with Adam Fields? I can assure you I’ve learned my lesson, boss. I won’t be going off on one again.’

‘
No it wasn’t that either I was thinking about. Though now you’ve raised it, I bloody well hope you won’t. No I was thinking about you. I need you focussed on this and I know from what Barry’s told me that you were pretty well gutted by what happened to her.’

He stole his eyes away
from his SIO’s gaze and fixed them on Polly’s incident board. He couldn’t help but be drawn in by the black and white photograph in the top right hand corner. It was of Polly’s lifeless form lying face down amongst tall grasses. Around her cloaked torso the ground was stained. Despite the image being in black and white he knew he was looking at blood. Barry had told him what had happened to her all those years ago but this was the first time he had been able to see for himself how her killer had left her. He felt the hairs bristle at the back of his neck. ‘It was a long time ago, boss. Twenty-one years in fact. I was a teenager. I can handle it.’

‘
Well listen, Hunter, if it gets too much for you don’t be afraid to come and talk to me, will you.’

He
met the Detective Superintendent’s concerned look. ‘I won’t, boss, thank you.’

‘
Good. Welfare chat over. Now stick the kettle on, Hunter, I’ve got to plough through this lot before briefing.’ She clutched the wedge of documents tight to her chest and turned on her heels.

By 8.00 a.m. the MIT team had assembled, their ranks swollen by the additional officers drawn from the Stolen Vehicle Squad and the Cold Case Unit.

There was an air of expectation in the room.
Desk phones had been diverted across to voicemail, and mobile phones switched to silent, everyone paying attention as Detective Superintendent Dawn Leggate took up centre stage at the front of the room. Detective Inspector Gerald Scaife, left his desk and quickly shuffled beside her, lowering his head to scan the contents of several sheets of paper, which he was rearranging in his hands.

She called the room to order.
‘Okay let’s listen up everyone, quite a bit to be going through this morning, so I need your fullest attention.’ She aimed a quick glance at her Office Manager. ‘I’m going to immediately hand over to the DI for the first part of this session and once he’s done I’ll pick things back up.’ She threw him a nod. ‘The floor’s all yours.’

The DI stepped forward and made for the wide-screen TV in the corner of the room. He picked up the remote and fired up the TV. A blue screen appeared.

Facing the team, in his broad Yorkshire accent he said, ‘Okay everyone, eyeballs wide for this bit, I’ve got some interesting CCTV evidence to show you.’ He tapped the remote. ‘As you know for the last couple of days our Viewers have been checking CCTV from the pubs, and also footage from the cameras in and around the streets of Sheffield where we know Gemma was on St Patrick’s night. One of the things we picked up on, from what her mates have said, is that Gemma had an altercation with a man in the Frog & Parrot, the last pub she was in. What we’ve been able to piece together, from what Gemma told her friends, is that a man apparently pinched her backside while she was coming back from the toilets and she slapped his face and gave him a bit of a slagging for it. None of her friends saw the incident, but one of them did see Gemma having a go at a guy in the corridor near the toilets and stepped in and dragged her away. Unfortunately that part of the pub is not covered by CCTV, and the girl who dragged Gemma away didn’t get a good look of him. So, we’ve only got the most basics of a description, and that is, a white male, clean shaven, probably mid, to late thirties, and tall and slim. That’s it. She’d had quite a bit to drink and just wanted to get Gemma back to their party. So in respect of picking anyone out from the pub CCTV over this incident, we haven’t had any luck. However, what we have found is this.’ He targeted the remote in on the TV and it buzzed into life. Onto the 42 inch screen a street scene appeared. There were tall buildings in the background, while in the foreground half a dozen young people milled around a large, open paved area. None of them appeared to be in any hurry to be anywhere. The scene was a typical one of a mixed crowd out for the night, enjoying themselves. The image was in colour, but it was night time and the tones were muted. Street lamps, dotted around, cast haloes of yellow light, blurring edges, and left the lower parts of buildings in deep shadow.

‘
The scene you are looking at is from the camera located opposite the City Hall in Barker’s Pool.’ Using the remote he aimed left of the screen. ‘And this narrow street here connects West Street to Division Street. It also goes behind the City Hall.’ Edging the remote sideways, he pointed out a large building with stone steps leading up to a pillared frontage. Its architecture was in the Corinthian style. ‘This is the City Hall.’ He announced. ‘In two seconds you will see Gemma Cooke appear.’ Just as the DI had finished his sentence the slim, petite figure of their murder victim came into view, left of screen. She had her head down, eyeing the ground before her. A few paces in, she stopped abruptly and flicked up her head, spinning her gaze away, shooting it in the direction of the narrow road, which led off towards Division Street. She stood stock-still, as if rooted to the spot, for the best part of ten seconds, and then spurred into life and with a pace somewhere between a walk and a jog, she crossed in front of the City Hall and disappeared off screen. The DI froze the picture. ‘Without showing you further footage from another camera, I can tell you, she makes straight for the taxi rank where she meets up with DC Tom Hagan. If you recall, she told Tom that she thought she was being followed. Having seen her reaction on that clip we did some further digging and found this.’ He rewound the film, back to the part where Gemma was staring down the narrow road towards Division Street. There, he halted its progress and zoomed in. After several seconds he froze the picture. Although the screen was fuzzy, there was enough clarity within the exposure to make out the silhouette of a figure hiding amongst the shadow projected by a nearby building. The grainy character had on dark clothing and was wearing what appeared to be a peaked cap, similar to a baseball hat. DI Scaife faced the room.

A sea of detectives
’ faces were staring beyond him, their eyes glued to the TV.

‘
Said it was interesting. And, it gets better.’ He re-started the film and the scene changed. A long, well lit street appeared and it was teaming with people. ‘This is Division Street. For those who don’t know this is one of the busiest streets in Sheffield at night-times. It’s full of pubs and fast-food outlets, hence the crowd of people you can see. When we found that image of that person hiding, we knew that there was only two ways that they could come out. One way was into Barker’s Pool by the City Hall and the other way was onto Division Street. We checked the cameras both sides of the connecting street and we found this.’ The DI turned his head towards the TV just as a shadowy figure appeared left on screen. The darksome individual was hunched forward, chin tucked into what appeared to be a hooded top. As the character entered the centre of the screen it stopped and slowly lifted its head. It deliberately sought out the CCTV camera and stared directly into the lens. The figure was wearing a mask. Torn eyelets in hessian sacking gave insight into two black holes, and where the mouth should be, a ripped gash had been sewn haphazardly with thick black wool. It looked, every inch, as if the mask was mocking them.

‘
Freeze the picture there, would you Gerry,’ interjected Dawn Leggate.

The image was suspended.

With outstretched arm the Detective Superintendent pointed towards the large flat screen. ‘This changes everything.’ Her eyes swept the room. None of her team’s faces left the TV to look at her. They were hypnotised by the 2D monster before them.

Though she was excited by this latest development she
took in a large breath and deliberately controlled the pace of her speech. ‘Gemma Cooke told DC Tom Hagan, that she thought she was being followed, and if you recall, she initially thought it might have been something to do with Adam Fields. But let’s not also forget, we now have the incident that night in the pub with the guy who pinched her bum. Putting those incidents to one side there is no doubt from that CCTV evidence that someone is hiding and Gemma has spotted them. What we don’t know is what happened next. Whether this person followed Gemma or not because that is the last we see of whoever this person is. We lose him or her in the back streets. We are currently trawling through car park cameras to see if this individual gets into a vehicle. We don’t know yet if the taxi Gemma and Tom got into was followed. If our masked individual here did follow the taxi, then this is a whole different ball game. And, although it doesn’t exactly let DC Hagan or Adam Fields off the hook, it certainly means we have another suspect we need to look at.’ She swung her arm towards the furthest whiteboard. ‘So armed with this latest CCTV evidence, our first victim, Gemma Cooke.’ She paused as if waiting for the name to cement in everyone’s mind and then in her Scottish brogue said, ‘Okay, now let’s re-focus. From the CCTV outside the City Hall we’ve got a definite time for her and DC Tom Hagan getting into the taxi, and similarly, we also know, from CCTV footage, that she and DC Hagan were inside the pizza place on Barnwell High Street where they ordered a pizza to take out. We know that at twelve twenty-six a.m. on the morning of the eighteenth, when Gemma and Tom Hagan walked out of the pizza place, she was alive. That is concrete evidence.’ She broke her eyes away from the incident board and scoured the room as if searching for an acknowledgment. She checked a few nodding heads and then snatched her gaze back to the whiteboard. ‘After that we only have DC Tom Hagan’s word as to what happened back at her house, including what time he left. He says that Gemma let him out of the back door at approximately quarter to two and that he made his way home via the back streets because he was embarrassed and didn’t want to be seen. And although he states he arrived home somewhere around two a.m., we only have his word for it.’ She returned her eyes back into the room and honed them in on DC Andy France. ‘I believe you’ve taken the route DC Hagan says he took to get home?’