Hunted: A psychotic killer is out for revenge... (THE DS HUNTER KERR INVESTIGATIONS Book 6)

by Michael Fowler

  Once there, Budgie checked out Nicholas Strachan on the computer, only to be disappointed when nothing came back, and Hunter scanned the passport, attaching it to an email, which he fired off to Dawn, providing her with an update and requesting follow-up checks of their mystery man. That done, Hunter helped Budgie compile his report for the Guernsey police and left him to make arrangements for CSI to forensically examine the cottage.

  As Hunter bid goodbye, Budgie was preparing to organise an extended search of the area around the scene, calling on more of his island resources. Once again, Hunter was suitably impressed given Budgie’s lack of experience in matters such as this and stored his thoughts of praise for when he next spoke with his boss.

  On his way back to the cottage, Hunter rang Beth and found she was at her parents’ with Jonathan and Daniel and that they were about to have lunch. Hunter checked his watch, surprised to see that the morning’s work had taken up over three hours of his time, and told her he was joining them.

  At Ray and Sandra’s, it was just himself, Beth and the boys for lunch — Fiona and Jock had gone to the island’s chocolate factory to sample the wares and have coffee. Out of earshot of the boys — they were watching TV — Hunter was quizzed about the morning’s events, and in a low voice he told them what they had found.

  “So, you don’t know if this Strachan fellow is linked to this Billy Wallace guy you’re after?” said Ray.

  Hunter shook his head. “Might be just sheer coincidence, but then I ask myself why give a false name? What is disturbing, is not finding him at the cottage and finding those bloodstains. Once again, that might be just sheer coincidence. It might be completely innocent. Say, for instance, it could have come from an injured animal. But it’s not just by the door; there’s the splatter on the wall and floor.”

  “You think someone whacked him, then?” asked Beth.

  Hunter shrugged his shoulders. “Or someone else has been attacked there by this Strachan fellow. Not sure at all. More questions than answers at the moment. Budgie’s organising another search around the cottage this afternoon, just to make sure he’s not lying around anywhere, or someone else is for that matter.”

  “You think he’s on the run?” Beth asked.

  “I wouldn’t have thought so. Why leave your passport and return ticket? I think something’s gone off, but I’m not sure what that is yet. Budgie says he’ll give me a ring if he finds anything. So, for now, it’s just a waiting game.”

  After lunch, Hunter, Beth and the boys went to the Visitor Centre, had a browse in the information room where there was display about the history of Sark, and then picked up and worked their way through a number of ‘things to do’ brochures. They soon found that many of the activities were seasonal or weather-dependant, so a boat trip around the island and kayaking, which they fancied, had ended until the following March. All they were left with was hiring a bike or going on the many walks, touring the island. The boys weren’t interested in any of that and asked if they could go back to Beth’s parents, where Grandad Ray had promised to take them to the fire station and show them around the adapted fire engines housed in the garage beneath where Budgie worked. Hunter and Beth acquiesced and took them back to Ray and Sandra’s cottage, where they left them, and went up to the Seigneurie Gardens and strolled around the walled estate.

  The afternoon with Beth was leisurely and enjoyable, and although Hunter found his thoughts straying at times onto that morning’s event, it was only occasionally, and by the time they came out of the garden, Hunter’s thoughts had switched to thinking about what they were going to eat for their evening meal. Grabbing a pot of tea at the Gardens’ café, Hunter suggested he and Beth should go out again for food, and Beth eagerly agreed, saying she would ask her parents if they would mind if Jonathan and Daniel stayed over again.

  Leaving the café, Beth put in a call to her mum, popping the question about the boys sleeping over. Sandra told her she was more than happy for them to stay, telling her they were still at the fire station with Ray. Thanking her and promising to pick them up first thing in the morning, Beth ended the call wearing a huge grin. She said, “You and I have a date night.”

  Hunter reserved a table at The Stocks Hotel, and in relative peace he and Beth got ready for their evening out. Fiona and Jock were staying in with a bottle of wine, telling Hunter that they had found a couple of films among the DVDs that they hadn’t seen before.

  As Hunter was starting to dress, following a longer than normal soak in the bath, Budgie rang. He told him they had done a full search of all the cottage gardens, and had ventured a good way into the woods, but hadn’t found anything. They had also spoken with each of the cottage residents, but no one had heard or seen anything and none of them could help with information as to who Nicholas Strachan was. Only the immediate neighbour had spoken with him, and that was to say ‘Hello’ and ‘Good morning.’ Hunter thanked him and told him he’d be in contact tomorrow and turned off his phone; his boss hadn’t got back to him following the sending of his email, and he’d decided no phone call was going to disturb his night out with Beth.

  As they left the cottage it was starting to rain, and Hunter grabbed one of the umbrellas by the door, testing it worked and had no holes before setting off. Their stroll through the village brought about a considerable amount of yawing, avoiding puddles that were starting to form on the uneven surface. Beth was cursing her choice of footwear — dainty ballet pumps — which were starting to get damp.

  By the time they reached the hotel, both of them were beginning to feel cold, and the warmth of the interior was very welcoming. There were a lot more people in the bar than during their previous visit, and the sofa they had grabbed before was now taken by a couple, and so they took a tub chair each. Hunter ordered one of the local beers and a house white wine for Beth, noticing it was a different barman serving. He immediately asked after Ian McDonald, the name Budgie had given him, and was met with the reply that he was off sick. Hunter instantly switched his thoughts to what had gone off at the stranger’s cottage, visions of the bloodstained lounge washing around in his head, and he desperately wanted to ask more questions of the barman, but decided it was best not to say anything which might alert Ian McDonald, should he be involved. He would put in a call to Budgie once he was back at the cottage, requesting a check of him to be done in the morning.

  Hunter returned to Beth with the drinks, plonked himself down beside her, took the top of his beer and picked up the menu.

  Beth selected a Caesar salad, and Hunter chose the black pudding with poached egg for starters, and they both wanted the fillet steak again for their main. The restaurant was full and noisy, but that suited them both as neither could avoid talking about Billy Wallace, debating if Nicholas Strachan was linked or not. It was at this point Hunter told Beth about his suspicions of the Scottish barman, particularly given what had gone on at Strachan’s cottage. He told her he was going to ring Budgie once they got back to the cottage. Beth had just responded that he should, when their meal arrived.

  Both enjoyed their food, once more commenting on how wonderfully cooked the steak was. When it came to paying the bill, Hunter left a generous ten-pound tip. The stroll back to their cottage was better than the earlier journey; the rain had ended, and many of the clouds had parted, allowing them a great view of the stars.

  Beth pulled Hunter close, resting her face against his shoulder. “Thank you for a lovely evening,” she said, giving his arm a squeeze.

  “And thank you,” Hunter returned. “It was perfect, wasn’t it?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Hunter jolted out from a deep sleep, flicking open his eyes, blearily darting them around the room. His heart began to race. For a moment he lay there, holding his breath, wondering why he had awoken with a start. Although he couldn’t hear anything other than Beth’s gentle breathing, he was certain something must have disturbed him. Still holding his breath, he listened.

  Nothing.

>   He decided to get up and check things out. He gently slipped out from beneath the duvet and padded towards the window, where he stared outside. Like previously, it was so dark he could hardly see anything, and so made his way onto the landing where he stopped, ears straining downstairs.

  Silence.

  Still not comfortable with the situation, he decided he was only going to be satisfied when he’d checked out the whole of the house and so made his way down. The moment he stepped through the doorway into the kitchen, he felt a chill. A gentle breeze was coming from somewhere. Icy fingers ran down his spine. He quickly scanned the kitchen, then the lounge, where his gaze was immediately drawn to the sight of the curtains lifting.

  The window’s open.

  Heartrate spiking, he felt his chest tighten, and clenching his hands into fists he took a few steps forward. His right foot splashed into something wet, and before he glanced down, a smell he recognised caught the back of his nose and throat.

  Petrol.

  A lengthy, shiny, black pool travelled from the lounge window, across the floorboards, a good ten feet into the room. He caught a sound outside the window, and it only took him a split-second to identify what it was.

  A zippo lighter.

  He spun sharply and bolted for the stairs. In a second, he was clambering up the flight, two steps at a time, screaming “FIRE!” to his family. As he reached the landing, he heard a loud whooshing noise below. Someone had lit the petrol.

  Dressed in just their sleepwear, Hunter, Beth, Fiona and Jock stood huddled together outside in the doorway of the outbuilding, watching flames lick the frames of the dormer windows, listening to cracking and splitting woodwork as it succumbed to the raging fire and heat. The downstairs was well alight, and the lounge window had already exploded from its frame. Now the fire had reached upstairs and was beginning to take hold.

  “All our stuff’s in there,” Fiona said softly, covering her mouth and looking on, horrified.

  “The main thing is we’re all safe. That’s all that matters,” Jock replied, pulling his wife close.

  Hunter’s eyes were locked on the burning cottage, almost in a hypnotic state. He shivered. Someone had just walked over his grave. If he hadn’t have woken up and gone downstairs, none of them might be here. He leaned in closer to Beth, grateful nothing had happened to her.

  That fucking Billy Wallace. He could fucking kill him.

  The arrival of the fire engine halted his thoughts. It had seemed an eternity since he had dialled 999 on his mobile, though he guessed it was probably less than quarter of an hour ago. Given that it was manned by volunteers, and the engine was towed by a tractor, they hadn’t done badly getting here. Though it didn’t look as though they were going to be able to save much of the cottage. Hunter could now see flames coming through the roof slates.

  Beth’s father was among the firefighters. He ran up to them. “Everyone okay?” he enquired anxiously, his eyes set on his daughter.

  “We’re fine,” Beth responded. “Hunter heard something and got up. It was a good job.”

  Ray tapped his daughter’s arm. “Okay, good. Now, let’s see if we can save anything.” He trotted away to his team, who were already rolling out the hose.

  “Is everyone okay?” It was Budgie. He was dressed in just a thin waterproof jacket over joggers and a T-shirt. He was out of breath. “I got here as fast as I could.”

  Hunter repeated what Beth had just said.

  “What happened?”

  Hunter told him about being woken up and then going downstairs and finding petrol poured over the floor.

  “Bloody hell.” Budgie looked to the burning cottage momentarily and then returned his gaze. “Did you see anyone?”

  Hunter shook his head. “Whoever did this was outside. I didn’t even see their shadow.”

  “I’m so sorry, guys, I should have posted someone here, but I used everyone who was available for yesterday’s search.”

  “You weren’t to know this was going to happen. No one was.”

  “But I feel responsible.”

  “Don’t.”

  A sudden loud revving sound from the fire engine drowned out Hunter’s voice. The water pump generator had kicked in, and Hunter watched two firefighters aim a jet of water at the roof of the cottage. Ray was beside them, pointing up to where fresh gouts of flame had just broken through another area of the roof. Within seconds, the blaze had disappeared and thick black smoke belched upwards.

  “Listen, guys,” Budgie shouted over the noise of the generator. “We need to get you somewhere warm and safe. I’m going to make a call. I’ll get the Community Centre opened up. We use it for emergencies, though, except for exercises, this is the first time we’ve used it. We have some camp beds there, and sleeping bags, and we’ll get you a warm drink. There’s nothing anyone can do here tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll see what we’ve managed to save in the cottage.” Budgie checked their faces and they all nodded back.

  Hunter had just stepped out from the doorway of the outbuilding when his mobile rang. He saw it was a number he didn’t recognise, and quickly decided not to answer, ending the call. Following Budgie down the path, his phoned pinged. He had a text. Stopping by the gate, Hunter looked at the message and froze.

  Just warming up ha ha

  On the stroll through the village to the Community Centre, Hunter noticed Fiona’s breathing was starting to get ragged.

  Beth noticed it too. “Are you all right, Fiona?” she said, taking hold of her arm.

  Even in the low light, Hunter could see his mother’s face was pale. It had the look and texture of putty. He watched her drawing in a sharp breath, leaving open her mouth. She looked ready to faint.

  “Fiona,” Beth prompted.

  Fiona put a hand to her chest. “It feels tight.”

  Beth guided her to a nearby low wall and helped her sit. “Take a deep breath, Fiona,” she said.

  Hunter thought his wife’s voice sounded remarkably calm given the circumstances. He was starting to worry. His mum didn’t look good at all.

  Beth grabbed hold of Fiona’s wrist, feeling for her pulse.

  “Do I need to get the doctor?” said Budgie, reaching into his pocket for his phone.

  Hunter searched out Beth’s eyes, throwing her a questioning look.

  She held up a finger, a sign for them to hold on a minute. “Just lower your head for me, Fiona, and take several deep breaths.” Her voice exuded authority and still remained composed.

  Fiona did as she was told, taking in great gulps of air, releasing it slowly. After thirty seconds, she lifted her face and everyone saw that her colour had returned.

  “Fiona, you are fine,” Beth said soothingly. “You’re just having another anxiety attack. Just carry on taking deep breaths for a minute.”

  Hunter took a deep breath of his own. Fucking Billy Wallace.

  On his bunk below the deck of the boat he had hired, Billy Wallace listened to the rain drumming the fibreglass roof with good thoughts in his head. He had managed to score some coke in the last pub he’d visited. Laying out two lines on the back of his mobile, he hoovered them up with a cut down straw. The hit came within seconds, and he half-closed his eyes, experiencing the rush cascading through his body. He had missed this in prison. The shit he managed to get his hands on in there gave him nothing like this.

  Opening his eyes and taking back control, he swiped the residue from his phone with the side of his hand and turned it around, activating the screen to watch the video again that had been sent to him half an hour ago. Slightly grainy, he could just make out Jock and his wife steadily making their way down the garden path, their bodies backlit by the fire destroying their rented cottage. In the background, he could see that the firefighters were doing their level best to douse the blaze, but it looked as if they were fighting a losing battle. The clip lasted for a good thirty seconds and as it ended, he replayed it for the third time, a wicked grin slashed across his face. His accomplice had done
well. The Kerr family will be shitting themselves after this.

  The shipping forecast announced that there would be a temporary lull in the storm in the next few hours, and although it would be dark, the skipper he’d hired knew these waters like the back of his hand. Soon he would be on Sark, and the work his contact had done would mean he would be facing the grass who’d put him away.

  The last time he and Jock had met, Jock had got lucky, and that’s why he’d ended up in prison. Not this time. Though there was still one major obstacle in his way. Someone who could damage his plans — Jock’s son. He had planned this so carefully over the last eighteen months, and the last thing he wanted was to fail. He had special plans for Hunter. Plans that would ensure there was only going to be one winner, even if it did mean him going back to prison where he would eventually die. At least he would have the pleasure of knowing he’d taken down Jock and that detective son of his.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Sleep had been out of the question for Hunter, even though he was drained and the camp-bed he had been given was surprisingly comfortable. He had tried, but failed, his brain on overdrive, repeatedly thinking what might have been had he not woken up. When he had closed his eyes, images had disturbed his inner vision; on rewind had been the horrified looks on Beth’s and Fiona’s faces as they watched the cottage burn. Jock’s look had been no better. He had just stared, in shock. Hunter wanted to throttle the very life out of Billy Wallace for what he’d put his family through.

  There had been one moment in the early hours when he had almost succumbed to sleep, but then the wind and rain had started, lashing and rattling the huge windows that spanned two sides, and that had put paid to any hope of getting any shut-eye. Now, as dawn was breaking, and the wind and rain easing, he lay with his hands tucked behind his head, staring up at the ceiling, thinking about what he would find when he visited the cottage later this morning; he hoped that there was something they could salvage, that they hadn’t lost everything they had brought.