Coming, Ready or Not

by Michael Fowler

  ‘DS Kerr, DC Marshall, my client is ready.’

  Hunter sprang himself forwards at the same time as Grace pushed herself up from her seat. They exchanged knowing looks. It was time.

  Hunter snapped shut his file, collected his messy thoughts and marched into the room.

  What faced him took him by surprise. He had expected to be met by someone who looked as though they were prepared to do battle, yet the display on DC Tom Hagan’s face was anything but. He was ashen-faced and wore a mask of defeat. He slouched in his chair, elbows on desk, hands supporting his head.

  His solicitor took the chair next to his client. Making himself comfortable he announced, ‘Detectives, Mr Hagan has made it clear to me that he realises the seriousness of his predicament and wishes to fully cooperate. He has prepared a statement.’

  Hunter dropped the folder onto the table and took his place opposite Tom Hagan. ‘That’s good but I would still like to ask him a number of questions.’

  Tom Hagan never even conferred with his solicitor. He met Hunter’s eyes and nodded.

  Grace switched on the tape recording machine and administered the introduction and caution.

  Hunter opened his folder. His pre-interview notes took centre stage. He checked the first few sentences he had written, but before he even had begun to speak DC Hagan said,

  ‘It’s not what you think.’

  Hunter glanced up and offered a questioning look.

  ‘I didn’t kill Gemma. I hadn’t anything to do with her death. She was alive when I left.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you say anything to us the other day when we came for Gemma’s case file. You must have known your prints and DNA were all over her place.’

  ‘Course I did. You just hope against hope don’t you, cos the whole situation was a friggin’ mess. I knew I was in a heap of shit.’

  ‘Enlighten me.’

  ‘You know the story of how I came to meet up with her again after all this time.’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘Yes, from the complaint that was made. You have to believe me when I say this. When it came across my desk and I was asked to follow it up, I spotted her name, and wondered if it was the same Gemma Cooke from school, and of course when I went out to see her, it was.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘Nothing happened, like you think it did. I did my job. Sure we caught up, but genuinely I did my job. I gave Gemma my card, like we always do for follow up contact, and then I arrested Adam, and afterwards I phoned her up and gave her an update. While I was chatting with her she happened to mention she was going out with her mates into Sheffield for a night out celebrating St Patrick’s Day. She said she needed to just chill out after everything that had gone off. I told her that was a coincidence because me and a couple of the CID lads were having a night out that same night in Sheffield, but that we were going to go to the casino after a couple of drinks.’ He sought out Hunter’s eyes and locked gazes. ‘You can check this out. I didn’t arrange it. It was a CID thing and they asked a couple of us in the office if we wanted to join them. It’s a regular thing.’

  ‘Okay, so you and a few of the CID lads went into Sheffield on St Patrick’s night. What happened there?’

  ‘Well, we started in that old pub opposite Sheffield railway station. Stayed there about an hour and then went to a few real ale pubs around Kelham Island and then we made our way up to Division Street. That’s when we bumped into Gemma and her mates. It wasn’t planned I can assure you. They were in the Frog & Parrot, I think it’s called and they’d had quite a few by the looks of them. We got in a round of drinks and I went across and chatted with Gemma for a while.’

  Hunter interrupted, ‘What about?’

  ‘Mostly about our schooldays, what we’d done with ourselves and of course the circumstances of how we’d met up again. You know, her domestic I’d just dealt with. That was it.’ He see-sawed his eyes between Hunter and Grace. ‘Honest. There was nothing in it. I didn’t chat her up. Nothing like that at all. I spent about twenty minutes with her. I finished my beer and then me and the lads went on to the next pub and left her and her friends to it. As I say it was planned that we’d do a few pubs and then go off to the casino.’

  ‘But that never happened?’

  ‘Well you know that, because I ended up at Gemma’s, didn’t I? But that’s also not how you think either.’

  ‘Tell me how it was.’

  ‘Well, me and the lads did a few more pubs, and were about to jump in a taxi to go to the casino, when Gemma rang my mobile. She said she’d had enough. That she wasn’t in the mood and so she’d left her mates in the pub and decided to call it a day. She said she thought she was being followed. She sounded really panicky on the phone. I asked her if it was Adam, and she said, she didn’t think so, but she wasn’t sure. I asked her where she was and she said near the City Hall. I was only round the corner from there, and so I told her to hang on and I’d shoot round. I left the pub and found Gemma by the front steps of the City Hall. She was in a bit of a state. And I don’t mean drunk. In fact she appeared to be pretty much sober.’ He lifted his head off his hands and pushed himself back in the seat. ‘She then told me that she thought Adam had texted her early on, threatening to slit her throat, and burn her house down, and that she didn’t know if it was him, or a mate of his, who was following her. She said whoever it was had kept dodging out of sight so she hadn’t been able to see them. I had a good look round but I couldn’t see anyone so I told her I’d see her into a taxi. And that’s what I intended doing. Except when I got her a taxi she asked me if I’d come home with her and just see that everything was okay when she got there.’ He paused a second and again sought out Hunter and Grace’s faces. ‘I guess that’s when I should have said no, but I didn’t, did I? Like an idiot I got in with her. On the way back, she said she was starving and asked me if I fancied sharing a pizza with her. We were getting on all right and I thought there was no harm in it and so we got the taxi driver to drop us off on High Street. The pizza place was still open, so I grabbed one and then we walked back to her place. Her house is only ten minutes from there, when you cut through the backs. When we got to her place she opened up a bottle of wine, while I divvied up the pizza and she poured out two glasses. I guess you know what happened then.’

  ‘You went to bed and had sex?’

  Downheartedly he answered, ‘Yes. We had sex.’ Then his eyes lifted. ‘But that was it. Once the moment had gone I felt awful. I know I shouldn’t have done it. I said to her afterwards that we shouldn’t have done that. She told me not to apologise. There was no harm done, she said. We were both adults. I told her that I couldn’t stay and so I had a quick wash, told her I’d catch up with her later and then left. She let me out by the back door and I cut through the back streets home.’

  ‘Did anyone see you leave?’

  ‘No, not that I know of. To be honest I really was feeling shitty over what had just happened. And you know my circumstances. I didn’t want anybody seeing me there. That’s why I used the back streets.’

  ‘When you say circumstances, what do you mean by that?’

  He sighed, ‘That I’m married. Six years, this year. She’s going to find out, isn’t she?’

  Hunter shrugged his shoulders. Resolutely he replied, ‘You don’t need me to answer that question, do you, Tom? I think you know the answer yourself. This is a murder investigation.’

  He hunched his shoulders, ‘This is going to crucify her. We’ve not had a good couple of months together. Things have been a bit strained of late. We’ve just had a baby – a little girl – three weeks ago.’ He shook his head, ‘How can I have been so chuffing stupid?’

  ‘Let me pull you back here, Tom. You’re telling us that when you left Gemma she was alive. Am I right?’

  He looked aghast. ‘Course I am, for Christ’s sake. She was alive. She saw me out of the back door. I just said I’d be in touch. That was it.’

  ‘And you never argued.
’

  ‘No, why should we? I hold my hands up I went to bed with her when I know I shouldn’t have done. I’m not proud of what I did, but that’s how it was. What else? Why should I harm her?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe she wanted more from you, after you’d had sex together. Maybe she asked you to leave your wife.’

  He shook his head vigorously. ‘No. Although I’m guessing she probably knew I was married she never asked me. It wasn’t like that. Jesus, you’ve got to believe me. It happened exactly like I’ve just told you. Gemma was fine about everything. In fact she gave me a peck on the cheek and said something like “if I ever needed her company again to give her a ring.” Honestly that’s exactly how it was. I’m telling you, when I left her she was alive.’

  ‘Okay, Tom, what time did you leave?’

  He thought about the question for a few seconds. ‘It would’ve been roughly about quarter to two. I say that because I can remember looking at my watch after we’d done it and it was just before half one. Like I’ve said, I got up had a quick wash, got dressed and then left. So at the most that was quarter of an hour.’

  ‘And what time did you get home?’

  ‘I guess it’s roughly twenty minutes to my house from Gemma’s, and I wasn’t strolling. I put in a bit of a jog so it could have been quicker.’

  ‘Will your wife be able to corroborate this?’

  Shaking his head he sighed, ‘As I said earlier, things have been strained between us. Baby blues and all that – I don’t know. She’s at her sister’s. She felt she needed a break, so she’s been there for the last couple of days.’ He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, ‘This is not going to help things with our relationship, is it?’

  No more than you deserve, because instead of being at the casino with your mates you were getting your end-away with a vulnerable witness, Hunter thought to himself.

  DC Hagan’s face changed and took on a worried look. ‘What a fucking mess, and all because of a one-night stand. Shit.’

  Least of your troubles, mate. Hunter then asked, ‘Just going back a bit, Tom. You said you divvied up the pizza. What did you mean?’

  His forehead creased into a frown, ‘I cut it in half. Well not just in half, into three slices each, but neither of us finished it. We left it on the side in the kitchen. I think there were a couple of pieces left.’

  ‘What did you cut it with?’

  ‘A knife. I asked Gemma if she’d got a pizza slicer, but she hadn’t.’

  ‘Where did the knife come from?’

  Tom Hagan’s brow creased, ‘Kitchen drawer, I think. To be honest I didn’t see. Why?’

  Hunter didn’t respond. He simply bunched his shoulders. That’s the answer I would have given if I had stabbed someone to death with a kitchen knife. He quickly tumbled this interview, and everything else he knew from previous briefings, around in his head. He lowered his eyes, pretending to read his notes as he gathered his thoughts. He recalled how the neighbour, Valerie Bryce had made the three-nines phone call to the police, telling the operator that Adam Fields was shouting and banging on Gemma’s back door, at just after ten past two on the morning of the 18th March. If what Tom Hagan had just told them was the truth, this meant that the time-gap between Tom leaving number 34 Manvers Terrace, and Adam Fields arriving at the address, and discovering Gemma’s body was approximately twenty-five minutes. Not a tight window, but neither a large one for them to focus on. He was just about to go back over Tom’s story when he recalled what Mike Sampson had introduced at this morning’s briefing. He asked, ‘When you last saw Gemma, what was she wearing?’

  Tom Hagan’s eyebrows knitted together. For a brief moment his eyes blanked. A few seconds later he answered. ‘A nightie.’ He pursed his mouth and momentarily gazed up to the ceiling, obviously thinking about the answer he had just given. Then his eyes returned and he nodded. ‘Yes, a short satin one – purple – and a matching kimono-type dressing gown. When I came out of the bathroom she was waiting for me on the landing. She had on the nightie and was wrapping the dressing gown around her. She said she’d see me out. Why?’

  ‘Anything else?’

  Momentarily, he screwed up his face.

  Hunter examined his face. Tom Hagan’s eyes were wide open but they weren’t focused anywhere. There was an eerie silence for a good ten seconds and then he captured Hunter’s look. He shook his head, ‘No, just her nightie and dressing gown. I don’t think she had any slippers on or anything like that. I think she was barefooted when she let me out of the back door. She said she was gonna go straight back to bed, cos she was going to be knackered otherwise. She had a busy day ahead of her.’

  ‘Did you notice any jewellery she had on?’

  ‘Jewellery? Jewellery as in rings, bracelets?’ He seemed to think about the question again for a few seconds and then returned, ‘No. I remember she’d a watch on earlier, but she took that off before we went upstairs.’ He raised a finger. ‘Yeah, she took it off when we were kissing cos the strap caught in the back of my hair.’

  ‘What about a necklace?’

  He screwed up his forehead. ‘Necklace? No, she didn’t have a necklace on. Just a watch.’

  Hunter and Grace grilled Tom Hagan for another hour, but they couldn’t shift him from his story. Following consultation with CPS, he was granted and given police bail. Two officers from the Professional Standards department had been waiting for the PPU Detective, and the moment he had stepped out of the interview room they had confronted him. They had served him with a ‘discipline notice’ and had duly suspended him from his duties.

  It was well into the afternoon by the time Hunter and Grace had finished fingerprinting and photographing Tom Hagan and furnished him with the appropriate release documents.

  Hunter returned to his desk feeling low and his head was mashed. He had to get out of the office to unpick everything and make some sense of it all. He made the excuse to Grace that he was just nipping out for something to eat and then jumped into one of the MIT cars and drove out of the station yard at speed with no direction in mind. By the time he had gathered his thinking he was near to Manvers Terrace. He took a detour to the murder scene.

  Most of the street had been re-opened to the residents, though a line of blue and white tape secured the immediate area around number 34 and a Community Support Officer was standing guard to prevent trespass of the inner cordon. Hunter pulled into the side of the road, killed the engine and stared out through the windscreen. By Gemma’s front door Hunter couldn’t help but note the line of colourful floral tributes decorating the footpath.

  Obviously very well thought of.

  For several seconds his thoughts drifted. He tried to focus on the interview with Tom Hagan but being here interfered with his concentration. His thoughts were spiralling around and he found himself reflecting on his childhood and early teenage years rather than that morning’s work. He set his sights beyond the crime scene tape and rested it on the grassed area at the head of the street. He had shared some good times here in the early 1980s; playing football. That piece of grass, back then, had been rough wasteland that backed onto derelict Brickworks. There was no sign of it now. He and his mates had used part of the broken perimeter wall as one of the goals; chalks marks outlined goalposts. While at this end jumpers or coats signified the other goals. He’d been Kevin Keegan, midfield dynamo. Other members of their imaginary England Squad had been taken up by his best friends, Tony Mitchell, Rob Jenkinson and the McCarthy brothers – Danny and David. He tumbled their young, cheery-faced images, around in his head and as their faces hazed away he wondered what they were all doing with their lives now. He caught himself and dragged back his thoughts. He switched focus, delivering his gaze upon number 34. What he had previously believed, about Gemma Cooke’s murder being ‘domestic’ related, was turning out to be nothing as straightforward. Something else was puzzling him as well. It had to do with that necklace they had found on Gemma’s body.

  - ooOoo –<
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  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Day Seven: 24th March.

  Pulling his Audi into the car park of Barnwell Police Station, Hunter ratcheted down the music of Blondie, while simultaneously scanning the rear yard for a parking place. Spotting an available space, between two marked patrol cars, he freewheeled into it and switched off the engine. In buoyant mood he nudged open his door and took in a deep breath. He filled his lungs, catching the morning freshness. Birdsong was the only sound around him. He listened to the exalted exchanges between the different species and pondered for a moment, staring skywards. As he caught a glimpse of the sun breaking through a thin veil of light grey clouds, he mused it was one of those days where he’d rather be out painting than being cooped up in a stuffy office. He shook himself out his reflections. One day, he told himself, and that’s all I’m going to do. Every day, come rain or shine.

  But today, Detective Sergeant Kerr, you have a killer to catch.

  Locking up the car he marched off across the car park, singing the chorus of ‘Dreaming’ inside his head. As he neared the rear door a smile played across his mouth; as a teenager he’d lusted after Debbie Harry; pouting images of her had adorned his bedroom walls. He caught himself again. He was in a contemplative mood this morning and he needed to get his head clicked into the right gear. Dismissing the thoughts of his adolescent years, he punched in the code to the security lock and entered the rear of the building. Two uniformed officers were by the back stairwell, putting on their protective vests. Hunter bid them ‘Good morning,’ as he took the stairs.