Secret of the Dead (6 page)

He had known a few lads who had tried it on with her over the years and she had left them with their tails between their legs. Grace had been married for sixteen years and he knew from their many conversations that David and her two daughters, Robyn and Jade, were centre-stage of her world. More so now, given what had gone on before with the ‘Demon’ case

Hunter shook David’s hand and ordered him a drink. David had recently taken on a role as manager of an IT consultancy and Hunter reminded himself to ask him about the job later on in the evening, but he wouldn’t dwell on it. Computers were not his thing, though he knew from previous meetings that David was also an avid armchair sports fan with a mutual interest in soccer, so they had plenty to talk about.

Mike Sampson was the next to arrive. He made straight for the bar, acknowledging them with a brief nod as he ordered two pints.

Hunter knew that the first beer would hardly hit the sides before Mike was ready for the second. And he was right. Mike had devoured the pint before the second had been dispensed from the pump.

He clonked the empty glass down onto the dark marble bar and wiped the corners of his mouth.

“Christ, I needed that.” He said taking the second drink from the barman while digging into his trousers pocket for cash.

Hunter returned the nod and raised his glass. “Down the hatch.”

Mike took another sip of his beer. “I’m taking it easy tonight.” He patted his rotund belly. “You know I’m not a lover of alcohol.”

His comment caused them to chuckle.

Hunter eyed Mike. He wasn’t the biggest of coppers and for as long as Hunter had known him, even in uniform, he had been overweight. But what he lacked in stature he made up for with his sanguine character. He was a good thief-taker, a very good interviewer and he had a dry wit. When you were at a low ebb or there was a dark moment in an enquiry, you could always rely on Mike to lighten the moment, but he was also the consummate professional who did more than his fair share of the workload. Hunter had known Mike frequently come in on his day off to do an hour or two on his paperwork, and then spend an hour distracting others with his gossiping and joke telling. But Mike was also a complex character and very guarded when it came to his personal life. Hunter knew that he loved fishing and shooting, with a wide circle of mainly male friends, and he was very knowledgeable when it came to pub quizzes, but that was where it ended. He had never known Mike to be in a personal relationship.

Mike had always lived at home with his mother until her unexpected death from a stroke three years ago and since then had lived alone. Hunter had been to the house a few times to pick him up or drop him off when they were going out for a drink and a curry and had been surprised when he had seen the interior. Not that it was untidy or dirty, in fact the opposite was true, the house was pristine. But the furnishings, the carpets, even the décor, were statements from the 1960s and ’70’s. It was stuck in a time warp in an era which belonged to Mike’s mum. Nothing had been upgraded or changed. It was almost as if he was leaving it as a shrine to the memory of his mother.

Yet, despite his seemingly lonely home life, Hunter had never seen Mike down in the dumps. He was always the life and soul of both the office and the party and Hunter guessed that by the end of the evening, he would have everyone’s attention with another of his funny stories or an array of politically incorrect jokes.

By 8:15pm most of the squad had gathered.

Barry nudged Hunter when Tony Bullars came through the doors, a very attractive raven haired woman on his arm.

Flaxen haired with sparkling blue-grey eyes and chiselled features “very handsome”, as Beth had ribbed him on more than a few occasions Hunter knew that Bully had an eye for the ladies and never settled with a girlfriend for very long. He had seen him with this girl on the last two departmental gatherings, though for the life of him he couldn’t recall her name. He’d make sure he’d talk with her before the evening had ended.

“Things must be getting serious. Next thing he’ll be telling us he’s decided to settle down,” he said to Barry through one side of his mouth.

Hunter ordered another round of drinks and slipped away from the bar to take Beth a glass of white wine. He noticed that the original group of Sue, Grace and his wife had expanded. DC Paula Clarke and two wives of other squad members had joined and were engaged in light-hearted chat with the occasional laughter. He wondered who the subject of their gossiping was; no doubt Beth would tell him later.

Suddenly, the lounge went quiet. He caught the look on his wife’s face, eyes wide and eyebrows raised, her gaze was fixed somewhere over his shoulder. Turning sharply, he spotted Detective Superintendent Michael Robshaw making for the bar. Just as quickly, stepping out from behind him, he saw the flame haired woman, its natural ginger colour subdued by an auburn tint.

She offered a meek smile.

“Well that’s certainly killed the conversation,” the Detective Superintendent responded good-humouredly, his keen eyes searching out the faces of his team. “I think you’ve all met DCI Dawn Leggate?”

She strode the short distance to Hunter, hand outstretched. The gesture took him aback.

He felt his insides flutter. Seeing her heavily freckled face brought all the angst and uncomfortable memories flooding back: Memories which, until now, had started to dissipate.

Hunter had last seen the Detective Chief Inspector eight weeks ago in the rear yard of the headquarters custody suite. She and her team were preparing to return to Stirling police station, in Scotland, where she was based, with two murderous villains. He and Barry had helped in their arrest. She had shaken his hand then and he had thought and hoped it would be the last time he would have to see her.

Nine weeks ago, he had discovered something that rocked his world.

The sea-change to his life had started at the end of August, while returning from a weekend away with his family. Driving back from the village of Staithes, along the moors, he had witnessed his parents’ car being rammed off the road. They were left badly injured by the driver, who sped away from the scene without stopping. Investigating that incident, he’d discovered that for some strange reason DCI Leggate had been given charge of the enquiry. For a long time it had puzzled as to why a Scottish-based senior detective should be involved in a North Yorkshire job, and tracking her down to resolve that had proved difficult and frustrating. She’d tried to fob him off with weak story once he had finally found her operating in his own back-yard at Barnwell. That had only made him dig his heels in further to get to the bottom of it - with devastating consequences. Almost nine weeks ago to the day, he had raced to his parents’ home after receiving the frantic phone call from his mother and hearing her hair-raising cries on the other end of the line. By the time he had got there, DCI Leggate was already at the crime scene, along with his boss. In anger and frustration he had cornered her into giving him answers.

What she had told him had rocked his world to the core.

The last time he had seen her had been on the 26
th
September and he had prayed it was for the last time. Yet here she was again and in his face.

He reluctantly reached out and took hold of her soft, slender hand, but part of him was telling him that this wasn’t happening.

“Hello Hunter, nice to meet you again. How are you?”

That soft Scottish voice broke Hunter out of his reverie. “I’m fine thanks.” He couldn’t think of anything more meaningful to say.

She held his hand for a few seconds. “Good. No hard feelings then?” It was a rhetorical question. She slipped her hand away and turned back to her escort. “I’d love a glass of red wine, thanks.”

The Detective Superintendent ordered drinks for everyone, then one of the Indian waiters showed them to their table. They had all pre-ordered their meals during drinks and as they selected their places at the long table the first course of mixed pickle and chutney with popadoms was already waiting.

Fighting spoon against spoon with Barry Newstead, seated opposite, to scoop out the lime chillies from the small metal dish they were sharing, helped Hunter to relax slightly, though he couldn’t help glancing towards the end of the table where Dawn Leggate was next to his boss.

It had crossed Hunter’s mind, as he guessed it had crossed many others around the table, that Michael Robshaw and the Scottish DCI were now an item. There had been office gossip and several sightings of the pair at a local restaurant over the past few months.

It couldn’t be easy carrying on a relationship with six hours’ driving time between them, Hunter thought as he watched the pair chatting with DI Gerald Scaife and his wife. He just hoped it wouldn’t be permanent. He felt uncomfortable in her presence; she knew too much about him and his family.

As they all finished the first course, two waiters glided in and cleared away the crockery. The table was ready for the next course; he had ordered Chicken Chat.

A sudden repetitive tinkling of metal against glass grabbed the table’s attention. Michael Robshaw was tapping the side of his beer glass with his fork.

It brought the team to order.

“I just want to say a few words.” He set down his fork but still held his pint glass. “This is not a night for speeches, but there are three celebrations tonight.”

Hunter began searching faces around the table, but was met with a series of raised eyebrows and shrugs,

“First and foremost, to the team for another successful outcome. Your hard work during the past eight weeks has paid off. We got a good result last week, the guilty verdicts with a twenty-five year minimum life sentence was a good judgement. It was well deserved after all the hard work you all put in and I’d like you to raise your glasses”

There was a resounding response around the table. “To us!”

“And now secondly. This has not been an easy decision. I have thoroughly enjoyed my time with you lot. This is probably the best team I have ever worked with in my career, but I have decided that with three years to go before I can officially retire I’m going to take a back seat. Though you all know I dislike the politics of the job, sometimes in your career you have to run with the devil. What I want to say in a nutshell is that next month I am moving on to headquarters. I am being promoted to Detective Chief Super.”

“And not a moment too soon,” Barry Newstead shouted from his seat. “Well done. Congratulations.” He raised his glass and drank.

The squad followed suit.

Barry kept his empty glass held up. “We’d thought we’d never get rid of you gaffer,” he added with a mocking grin.

There was a ripple of laughter around the table.

“Thank you Barry, I’ll take that as a compliment. From you those are heartfelt words. And do you know something deep down I’ll even miss you! By the way your P45’s in the post.”

There was another flurry of chortling.

“Now for the last celebration. I invited Dawn tonight for a specific reason. Not just so you could all gossip about us and yes we are an item but I wanted you all to share and celebrate her success.” Michael Robshaw glanced to his side and Dawn met his gaze. “Dawn has made a life-changing decision in the past few weeks. From today she is a member of South Yorkshire Police and more importantly she is here on promotion to Detective Superintendent.” He thrust forward his half full glass of beer. “Dawn will be shadowing me on this case for the next month and then she will be taking over. Please raise your glasses to your new SIO.”

Hunter’s head snapped up. Those words struck him like a Tsunami.

He didn’t join in the celebration - it wasn’t a deliberate snub, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

When he turned his attention back to the table, the second course had been put in front of him. He picked at the spicy pieces of chicken in crispy pancake casing. Suddenly he wasn’t hungry any more.

- ooOoo -

DAY TWO: 25
th
November.

The alarm woke Hunter at 6.45am and he slipped out of bed quietly and pulled on his training top and joggers. Beth and the boys were still slumbering as he locked the front door behind him. It would be at least another half an hour before they stirred.

The morning air was moist from overnight rain and the pale orange glow of dawn was rising above a grey blue horizon as he hit the streets to run the four miles into Barnwell station. At a slow jog, he slotted the small ear pieces of his i-Pod into place, selected ‘The Platinum Album’ by 30 Seconds to Mars, and clipped it onto the waistband of his jogging bottoms before picking up the pace. At the first corner he slipped up the hood of his top, there was a noticeable chill.

After four hundred yards his rhythm and breathing were in sync and he began to increase speed. He had always found that the harder he pushed himself when training, the easier it became to unwind. Hunter needed to clear his head before he got into work. It wasn’t just the latest case which had disturbed his sleep, the shock announcement delivered by Detective Superintendent Michael Robshaw the previous evening was also preying on his mind. He had tossed and turned well into the early hours, and when he woke, everything was still tumbling around inside his head. He got up, determined to sort the muddle out so that he could be focused for the start of this new case. The last thing he wanted was to be out of kilter when there was so much to do.

Deep down, he was feeling vulnerable and he could kick himself for acting like a petulant teenager. After all, he didn’t know Dawn Leggate, and that was why her presence had got to him. Even though other members of his team, including Detective Superintendent Robshaw, knew about his parents’ past, he hated the fact that she knew all the secrets of his family and yet he knew nothing about her.

Grow up Hunter,
he cursed inwardly,
get over yourself and move on. What’s happened has happened and it’s not her fault
.