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

by Michael Fowler

  Snapping open his eyes, he tried to look at Beth, but she wouldn’t hold his gaze. As he looked to her again, she was on the sofa, her gaze fixed on the ceiling as if she was in a dreamlike trance. She was probably thinking similar things to him; as a nurse, he knew she would have been exposed to child-abuse stories of nightmare proportions, which wouldn’t help alleviate her suffering.

  Fiona and Jock were fairing no better. Jock was sharing the sofa with Beth, his shoulders slumped and his arms hanging limply. He looked washed out, his eyes and head somewhere else. Fiona was the only active one. She had been going backwards and forwards to the kitchen, continually asking everyone if they wanted a hot drink and tidying things up that didn’t need tidying up. Hunter wanted to scream at her to sit down, but he knew from his own experience that everyone handled trauma differently.

  Roll on 8 a.m. and he could start looking for Jonathan again.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Hunter awoke with a start. Weak light in the gaps in the curtains told him it was morning, and he could hear the faint shuffling sound of footsteps drifting up from the lounge. He was fully clothed, as was Beth beside him, who was still asleep, and he remembered that they had all decided just before 4 a.m. that it might be worth trying to get some sleep to prepare themselves for the day ahead. As he had rested his head in those early hours, he had thought he would never be able to get to sleep, such was the activity in his mind. Nevertheless, he obviously had. And it had definitely done him good, because he felt surprisingly refreshed.

  He gently rolled over and picked up his phone. 7.18 a.m. and no calls or texts. He recalled that they were all meeting at eight to continue the search. I need to get up. He pushed himself up, disturbing Beth.

  “You’re awake,” Beth mumbled, looking his way, rubbing bleary eyes.

  “Just. Got to get up. Meeting with Budgie and the team in half an hour.”

  “I’ll get you something to eat,” she responded, propping herself up on an elbow.

  “No, don’t rush. I can hear someone else is up downstairs. I’m guessing it’s Mum. I’ll grab some toast and a brew and I’ll bring you up a cuppa.” Swinging his legs out of bed, Hunter sniffed an armpit. He needed to get out of his T-shirt and grab a shower.

  Everyone was in by the time Hunter arrived at the station. He pulled off his sopping-wet waterproof and gave it a good shake. It was another horrible day. Not just the rain, but the wind had picked up as well. He knew no one was coming to the rescue today.

  For the second day running, they started the briefing clustered around the Ordnance Survey map of Sark, Budgie drawing a ring around the properties and areas that had been searched, confirming with those who had carried them out that their examination had been thorough. Hunter was reassured by their responses.

  After that, Budgie carved up the remaining locations for the day’s exploration, allocating three to each site like the previous day. Hunter’s eyes zoned in on each of the places Budgie was pointing to, which included the old silver mines on Little Sark, hoping one of them was going to reveal where Jonathan was being held. Sark was such a small island in comparison to the other Channel Islands, yet still a huge place to hide a child. A feeling of doom suddenly overcame him, and he responded by telling himself that Jonathan was okay — that he hadn’t been harmed and he definitely wasn’t dead. This was about Billy and Jock. Billy wanted Jock, not Jonathan. Jonathan was the bargaining chip. The conduit to get to Jock. Soon Billy would call. Hunter knew it.

  Rain battered Hunter and Budgie as they made their way over the Gouliot headland, where Budgie had told him there were a number of old tunnels made by the Germans during their wartime occupation. He’d said they had all been sealed with steel plates, but he wanted to check them out for himself. It was something Hunter would have done.

  By the time they had checked the last one, seeing that the covers were still welded in place, Hunter was soaked. His waterproof had managed to prevent his underneath fleece becoming wet, but his jeans were plastered to his legs and water had trickled into the tops of his boots. For a moment he stood looking out across to the Isle of Brecqhou, most of it shrouded in mist, listening to the crashing sea and the screams of the herring gulls around him. The freezing rain assaulted his face, making him feel thoroughly miserable, but his thoughts were firmly on two things — finding his son and finding Billy Wallace. He had so much anger inside him that if he confronted Billy right now, he would kill him.

  Where the fuck are you, Billy?

  In the midst of his thoughts, he heard Budgie’s mobile ring. Hunter snapped around his head as Budgie yanked it from his pocket, cupping a hand around it as he put it to his ear.

  “Hello, Constable Burgess.” He had to shout above the wind.

  For the next couple of minutes, Hunter studied Budgie’s features as he listened to him answer the call with a series of clipped yeses and nos, frustrated that he couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation. When he heard Budgie explaining in some detail the searches that he and his team had conducted, he knew it could only be one of the bosses across in Guernsey he was speaking with.

  Ending the call, Budgie momentarily looked out to sea before engaging with Hunter, a disturbed look on his face. “That was the Operations Superintendent on Guernsey. The Coastguard’s just told him that there are storm force conditions predicted for the next twelve hours. There’s no chance of anyone coming until at least tomorrow.”

  Hunter threw back his head, slinging the obsidian-coloured sky a hate-filled stare. “FUCK!” he yelled at the top his voice.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  “Where have you been? Don’t you answer your calls?” Dawn knew she was sounding angry on the phone, but she couldn’t help it. She had been trying DS John Reed’s mobile all day, leaving him several voicemails, the last one two hours ago, reinforcing that it was urgent, but he hadn’t had the decency to respond until now.

  “Sorry, Dawn, I’ve been so busy…”

  She broke into his reply. “I left you a message two hours ago saying that it was urgent.”

  “I know you did, and I apologise, but I’ve really been up to my neck in it. I got a lead on Billy that urgently needed following up.” The inflection in his voice raised on the pronunciation of the word ‘urgently.’

  Dawn caught the agitated note in John’s voice, which made her sit up, more so as he finished his sentence, and suddenly she felt guilty about her brusqueness. Swallowing the knot in her throat, she responded, “Billy! That’s who I’ve been trying to get hold of you about. Hunter’s son’s gone missing on Sark. He thinks it’s either Billy or someone who knows him. Have you managed to find out where he is?”

  “Fucking hell, Dawn, I’m sorry I didn’t answer your calls. I thought you were just after an update, but I couldn’t give you one because our enquiries have been so fluid all day. We’ve never stopped. If you’d have said that in your message, I would have got back to you straight away. You know I would.” John broke off for a second and continued, “The answer to your question ‘have we found him?’ is no, but in relation to where he is, we think we know.”

  “Well, don’t keep me in suspense, John.”

  “What I can definitely say is he has gone to Guernsey. He caught a flight from Glasgow two days ago. It was an internal flight, so the border checks weren’t done. I’ve given the supervisor involved a round of fucks, but that’s too late now. The horse has bolted, so to speak.”

  “Shit, so he could be on Sark!”

  “I thought you said yesterday that the weather was too bad for the ferry or anything.”

  “Too bad, health and safety-wise, maybe, but that wouldn’t stop our Billy. He managed to escape from prison while being guarded, so a bit of bad weather’s not going to stop him. I’m going to have to alert Guernsey and see if I can push them to get a team across on the island sharpish.”

  “Just before you do that, you made a comment about someone helping Billy. I think I’ve got the answer for you.” />
  Dawn straightened up quickly. “Oh yes?”

  “The fact that Billy only caught a flight two days ago makes the timing all wrong for Nicholas Strachan’s murder. So, he has to have been killed by someone else on that island. And if you recall, I told you he’d texted me to say he was onto something, but never got back.”

  “I remember that. So, who’s across on Sark helping Billy? What have you found out?”

  “You know I told you that we’d tracked Billy across to Edinburgh but couldn’t find a connection to anyone there?” John paused for a couple of seconds as if waiting for Dawn to ask a question. When she didn’t, he continued, “Well, we have found a connection. The Governor at Barlinnie finally got back to me this morning with a list of people who’ve visited Billy. A couple of them are well-known villains from his past. They’re old stages now. Lost their reputations at least a decade ago and well past doing anything themselves, so we quickly ruled them out. But there was also Alec Jefferies’ name on that list. Remember him? He’s the guy we found shot dead in the flat in Motherwell with two others. We believe he was the one who organised Billy’s escape.”

  John paused again. “And there’s one other. A woman. Her name crops up seven times on the list. The last time she visited Billy was five weeks ago, and surprise, surprise, the address she gave is in a small town just outside Edinburgh. Preston Pans. She’s got a flat there, and that’s where I’ve been all day. We got a warrant and busted the place this morning. Unfortunately, there was no one there and a check with neighbours revealed that no one’s seen her for the best part of a week. But there is evidence that someone’s stayed there recently. Certainly, just before Billy caught the flight from Glasgow, from shopping receipts we’ve recovered. We strongly believe it’s Billy. In between coming down your neck of the woods to Jock’s house, we’re guessing that’s where he put his head down while we were looking for him after the shootings.

  “We’ve done a thorough search, and forensics are still in there as we speak, so we’re hoping to turn something up. One of the things we have found is a receipt from a travel agent for a flight booking from Manchester to Guernsey, and it’s not in Billy’s name, it’s in hers. And there was no sign of her passport, so I put in a call a couple of hours ago for a check. I’ve literally just got a phone call back from Border Control at Manchester Airport ten minutes ago; that’s why I haven’t rung you until now. They’ve confirmed she did get on a flight to Guernsey. And get this: the flight she got on was the same one as Hunter and his family.”

  “Jesus!” For a few seconds Dawn didn’t respond. She thought about what John had just revealed. Coming back to the moment, she said, “And there was just her on that flight? She didn’t travel with anybody?”

  “As far as we know, she was alone. Neighbours have confirmed she lives on her own. We don’t believe she has a partner or companion.”

  “Bloody hell, John, so as far as we know, for the past week this woman has been keeping tabs on Hunter and his family?”

  “It would appear so, Dawn, yes.”

  “And more than likely she’s the one, then, that whacked Hunter, burned down the cottage they were staying in and murdered Nicholas Strachan.” Pausing, she added, “And she’s now involved in Hunter’s son’s abduction.”

  “I think it would be a good bet. There is something else I’ve found out about her.”

  “Go on, surprise me.”

  “She’s a fruit-loop.”

  “She’s more than a fucking fruit-loop, John. I would say she’s as bad a psycho as Billy, if she’s responsible for all this.”

  “They’re certainly well-matched, Dawn. And given what I’ve learned today, I think it was no accidental match. Certainly not on her part.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “We’ve only just started on our enquiries, but we’ve not found anything in her background which would link her to Billy in the past. The Governor tells me she started writing to him within a fortnight of him being convicted and used to send two to three letters to him every week. He said they had monitored many of the letters she’d written, and their content would appear to show that she was just besotted with him, simple as that. Notoriety and all that.” Pausing, John added, “It makes you wonder what turns these women on about sickos. But having said that, I’ve also found out about something she did a few years ago, and to me she seems just as bad.”

  “She obviously is. No ordinary person goes burning down a house, when everybody was in it, and then murders an undercover cop. Tell me what else she’s done?”

  “According to her convictions, harassment and grievous bodily harm. I haven’t got the full SP on her, but there is a little bit about her in our Intelligence System. Apparently, five years ago she was a teacher and became infatuated with a younger male colleague and began stalking him. When he rebuffed her advances, she threw cleaning fluid, containing hydrochloric acid, in his face and also attacked his girlfriend with the stuff. She did two years in prison.”

  “Lovely woman. Well, that definitely confirms the fruit-loop. She and Billy do have a lot in common.”

  “I’ve got a photo of her from her flat. It looks to be a good few years old, but the neighbours tell me it’s a good likeness, so I’ll email it you as soon as we finish. But before you go, there’s something else I need to tell you before you get off to warn Hunter and inform Guernsey Police.”

  “You mean, there’s more good news?”

  John gave a short laugh. “Not for her there isn’t. The girl Alec Jefferies was living with. The girl who was shot beside him in bed, we think by Billy. Mary Brown.”

  “What about her?”

  “She’s this woman’s daughter. She’s the link with Alec Jefferies, who helped Billy escape.”

  “Billy’s shot this woman’s daughter?”

  “Yes. And it’s my guess she doesn’t know. We haven’t revealed Mary Brown’s name to the press yet. I have no doubt that Billy’s using this woman, and he’ll more than likely kill her once he’s got everything he wants from her.”

  “What’s this woman’s name, John? I need to get this and her photo to Hunter as soon as.”

  “Hazel Brown.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Back in the Constable’s Office, cold and wet once again, Hunter rubbed the tops of both arms, trying to return the warmth to his body. It had been a fruitless, frustrating day, and with daylight diminishing Budgie had reluctantly sent everyone home. Much to his frustration, they hadn’t been able to locate Jonathan or find a clue as to his whereabouts. Beth will be beside herself. Hunter didn’t want to go home with the news.

  “I know it’s no consolation, Hunter, but I believe Jonathan’s safe. You’ve said yourself, it’s your dad that Billy’s after. My guess is you’ll get a message from him soon.”

  Hunter was about to respond when he felt and heard his mobile ping. He had a message. A cold shiver ran down his spine. He caught Budgie’s eye, pulling his phone from his pocket and switching his gaze as he activated it. He let out a breath when he saw the message was from Dawn, letting Budgie know everything was okay by lifting his eyes briefly and mouthing who it was.

  Dawn had sent a long message. Three sentences in, Hunter stiffened and locked onto the screen, flicking through the message as quickly as possible, though not missing anything he read. Coming to the end, he thumbed up the photo and feasted his eyes on it. The woman staring back at him took him completely by surprise. He knew her. Or at least he’d met her and knew her first name, because she’d told him that when they’d bumped into her.

  Hunter spun his mobile around, allowing Budgie and four of the Constables who’d come back with them to view the image. “This is what my boss has just sent me. This is a woman called Hazel Brown, and my boss believes it’s the person who assaulted me, set fire to the cottage and who killed Nicholas Strachan. The text she’s just sent me indicates she’s the one who’s been keeping tabs on me for Billy. That has to be right. I met her on Dixca
rt Bay a couple of days after we’d been here. She told me she was a retired teacher who was renting a cottage on the island.”

  One of the Constables jabbed a finger towards the screen. “I spoke with her when we were doing house-to-house. She’s renting the cottage next to Nicholas Strachan’s.”

  Everyone’s eyes darted between one another.

  “That’s our answer. I bet that’s where Jonathan is,” exclaimed Budgie.

  Everyone started picking up their gear and putting their coats back on. Budgie passed Hunter a torch and they quickly made for the door.

  “There is a possibility Billy could be there. The boss says he caught a flight to Guernsey two days ago.”

  “In this weather?” yelled back the lead Constable, who was almost at the bottom of the stairs. “I don’t think so. Anyway, there’s enough of us.”

  Hunter sucked in air almost in unison with each stride, his throat aching, as he raced towards the cottages where Hazel Brown and possibly Billy Wallace were holed up. Behind him, he could hear the crunch of his comrades’ boots as they chased after him, Budgie shouting for him to slow down. He only had one thing on his mind as the biting wind snapped at his face and cheeks, and that wasn’t slowing down.

  As Hunter rounded the bend that brought the row of five cottages into view, though in the fast fading light he could only make out their outline, he took in a deep slug of air, slowed briefly to steady his ragged breathing, and then bolted up the path towards the door of cottage number four. He turned the handle swiftly, smashing his shoulder against solid oak, and had he not held onto the handle he would have gone face-first into a heap, as he quickly discovered it wasn’t locked.