Coming, Ready or Not

by Michael Fowler

  From his hiding place he waited while it swung away from the junction. Into his head sprang the words ‘Watching the detectives’ – the line from Elvis Costello’s song, and he couldn’t help but smile conceitedly.

  Detectives – I’ve shit ’em. He had already been inside the house once and they’d not even noticed. He looked at his watch. In another half an hour he knew she would be gone as well.

  Perfect.

  The plan was coming together. Like it always did. This time though, he wasn’t going to jump in. He really wanted to freak her out.

  He checked his watch again.

  Now all he had to do was wait.

  ‘The names Dale and Scott didn’t ring any bells with the Richmond team, I’m afraid.’ Hunter had just finished giving the MIT squad a rundown of his and Grace’s visit to Richmond upon Thames.

  Detective Superintendent Leggate’s eyes left Hunter and scanned the room. ‘Never mind, it’s early doors. I think everyone will agree the visit was a success. We certainly have a bigger picture of what has emerged here. It certainly looks as though the Richmond jobs were a starting point for our killer. Though, given these attacks, unlike Elisabeth Bertolutti, who had a link to Richmond and London and met with our current suspects, I’m at pains to see where Polly Hayes and Gemma Cooke fit into this. We don’t have them linked to any events in London, do we?’

  A couple of detectives returned shaking heads.

  She settled her gaze upon Hunter.

  He pursed his mouth. ‘I don’t recollect Polly ever going to Richmond or London, or mentioning it.’

  Mike Sampson piped up, ‘We know Gemma had an altercation with a man in the Frog & Parrot, which was followed by the masked man following her in Sheffield and possibly home. Do you think it could it be in both cases of unfortunately being in the wrong place at the wrong time?’

  ‘That’s something I want to explore. Hunter, I want you to speak with Polly’s parents this morning. Check if they’ve ever been to these places, or if they’ve got relatives or friends down there.’

  Hunter made a note of it.

  ‘And I want twice daily contact with the Richmond team. Share what we’ve both got. Having them on board is going to be a big help, especially if our current suspects do live in their neck of the woods. Hunter and Grace, you’ve made the initial links with that team. I want you two to continue that contact.’

  They both returned a nod.

  ‘Have we got anywhere with the green cloak Polly Hayes was found wrapped in?’

  Mike Sampson said, ‘No one’s come forward to identify it yet. I’ve chased up the Press Office to see if we can give it some more publicity. And it’s on fast-track at Forensics. I spoke with them yesterday afternoon and they said they should begin DNA work on it in the next couple of days.’

  ‘Okay, let’s see if we can chivvy that along a bit quicker. It would be nice to find out where that came from, especially as it doesn’t feature in the Richmond enquiry.’ She clapped her hands, ‘Okay, fresh day ahead everyone. Let’s make every minute of it count.’

  With a satisfied sigh, Hunter signed the last of the ‘action reports,’ scooped them up and tapping them together into a semblance of neatness he dropped them into his out tray. Relaxing his concentration he gazed out through the window. The view wasn’t great. He looked down over the rear car park. The only activity there was the dog man cleaning his van. He pulled back his gaze and scanned the room. Most of the team were still at their desks, handling calls or working at their computers. He spotted Isobel, from the HOLMES team, writing away on the incident boards. He could make out she was updating them with the information from ‘Operation Scarecrow.’

  Returning his eyes back to his cluttered desk he sucked in his breath. He hated being desk-bound. Though, looking at the material scattered across its surface, he knew he would be going nowhere today. He had a fair bit of Polly’s exhibits to go through. He still hadn’t finished reading her five-year diary and he’d brought in the contents of the cardboard box from home. He wanted to check if there was anything in there that made any reference to London or Richmond. An earlier phone call to her mother had failed to reveal any connection.

  The first item he selected was the envelope with the acronym ‘S.W.A.L.K.’ written across its torn rear flap – the letter Beth had mocked him about last night. He slipped out the piece of folded paper. As he opened it up he smiled. At the top of the page an imprint of a pair of red lipstick lips smeared the opening line of ‘Hi Hunter’. He imagined Polly’s voice whispering his name, as she penned it, and remembered finding similar notes in his school blazer and text books. He began to read. It was the first of two letters she had sent him while holidaying in Cornwall, with her parents, and best friend Lucy, during July 1988. The opening paragraph was about how much she was missing him. She then proceeded to outline some of the things she and Lucy had been up to. As he got to the last paragraph, on the first page, he caught his breath. He read the paragraph again. Dropping the letter, he snatched up Polly’s diary. Opening it, he flicked through pages speedily, quickly checking the calendar months and years, at the top corner of each page, until he found the dates he was looking for. Placing the diary flat down on his desk he began to read slowly through Polly’s daily writings over a two-week time span.

  As he finished he looked up and set his eyes on Polly’s incident board.

  That’s it, he said to himself. That’s the link.

  He scooted back his chair and dashed out of the office.

  Detective Superintendent Leggate’s door was ajar.

  Hunter tapped but didn’t wait for an invite to enter.

  ‘Boss, I’ve got something,’ he said, pushing open the door and stepping into the office.

  Dawn Leggate looked up from her desk. She extended a hand and offered Hunter the seat in front of her desk. He dropped Polly’s letter on top of the paperwork the Detective Superintendent had been working on and plonked himself down in the chair.

  Leaning forward he said, ‘I’ve not mentioned this, but when Polly was murdered, I kept some of the things that were personal between us. I left them at my mum and dad’s house when I left home and a couple of days ago I found them again. I’ve started to go through them to see if there was anything relevant, and a couple of those things were letters she sent me in 1988, when she was on holiday with her parents, and best friend, in Cornwall.’

  He stabbed a finger towards the letter. ‘Just read that last paragraph, boss.’

  Hunter watched the SIO’s eyes move along the letter. He gave her a few moments to read it, leaned in further, to get better sight of the writing, and said, ‘As you can see, she’s put down there, the sentence, “you’ve got competition Hunter. Me and Lucy have been chatted up by two good looking lads. But you’ve no need to worry I’ve told them I’ve got a gorgeous boyfriend back home.”’ He met her gaze. ‘I’d forgotten, but now I can remember quizzing her about this when she came home and she ribbed me about me being jealous over it. Anyway, she wouldn’t tell me who they were.’ He produced Polly’s diary, ‘So, just now I decided to check the dates, when she was on holiday, to see if she’d put anything in there about them.’ He opened the diary to the pages he had pre-selected and laid it over Polly’s letter. He kept his fingers pressed firmly on the bottom of the facing pages to stop the book springing closed. He dipped his head. ‘Just read these entries.’

  Detective Superintendent lowered her eyes and silently read the entries Hunter was pointing out

  Wednesday 13 July.

  Met two lads today. Had a laugh with them, but not as nice as Hunter.

  Friday 15 July.

  Bumped into Dale and Scott again today. Could tell Scott fancied Lucy. Felt a bit of a gooseberry.

  Monday 18 July.

  Dale and Scott becoming a bit of a pain now. Everywhere we go they’re there. Can’t they take a hint.

  Thursday 21 July.

  Didn’t go down to the beach today to avoid Dale and Scott.
Going home tomorrow. Thank God. Looking forward to seeing Hunter.

  Dawn Leggate’s head jerked up. She met Hunter’s eyes. ‘Bloody hell. Get onto Devon and Cornwall straight away with this.’

  He rolled out from beneath the bed and for a few seconds lay there, gently flexing his joints. He wasn’t surprised as to how stiff he was. He had lain there for the best part of four hours, hardly daring to move, and controlling his breathing as he’d listened to the pair moving around the house. A couple of times he’d heard them pass by the door of the room he was hiding in. On those occasions he’d tightened his grip on the knife and not let go until they’d gone back downstairs. An hour ago they had come upstairs for the final time, and he’d listened to them bathing and preparing themselves for bed. He’d waited patiently until satisfied that they were asleep.

  This is my time.

  He eased himself up, rolled his neck, straightened his mask and tiptoed to the door. He grabbed the handle and listened at the panel.

  The house was quiet.

  Turning the handle, ever so slowly, he opened it.

  He edged onto the landing and listened again. Adjusting to the gloom he could make out that their bedroom door was ajar. He inched his way forward.

  Suddenly, a rushing noise invaded his hearing; the adrenaline had kicked in. He caught himself and steadied his breathing.

  Regaining control, he stepped into their bedroom. He could just make out the outline of their forms beneath the duvet. From the sounds they gave off he could tell they were in a deep sleep.

  He stood at the edge of their bed. The feeling of power surged through him. Right now he could do anything he wanted. But he’d already decided he wasn’t going to do anything. Not tonight. Tonight, he was there for a purpose, and that purpose was to instil fear.

  Scare the fucking living daylights out of her.

  He slipped out his mobile phone and snapped off a photo. The flash lit up the room and for a split second he didn’t stir.

  When there was no movement from them, he slipped backwards out of the room.

  That was the first part of the plan over.

  - ooOoo -

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Day Seventeen: 3rd April.

  He took a grip on his shuddering Despite the extra layers of clothing he had put on the cold was beginning to creep through. When he had slipped into position two hours ago he hadn’t anticipated the temperature dropping so low.

  Nevertheless, it had been worth it. For the last hour, hiding among bushes opposite the house, he had watched her flitting backwards and forwards across the lounge window. Now, however, he’d just lost that view. Her lover had closed the curtains.

  He clenched his teeth and balled his hands into fists.

  Suddenly, the front door opened making him jump. He tucked himself tighter into the bushes.

  Back-lit by the hall light she appeared in the entranceway, carrying something.

  Standing stock-still he strained his eyes to get a better look.

  She stepped down onto the path and walked in front of the garage. The security light activated giving him a much clearer look. He saw that she was carrying out the rubbish.

  Stopping by the wheelie bin, she opened it, deposited the rubbish and dropped down the lid. Then, instead of walking back into the house, she turned and looked in his direction.

  His heart missed a beat. Holding his breath, he didn’t move.

  A few seconds later, she shook her head, shrugged her shoulders and then headed back indoors.

  As she closed the front door, he let out the breath he had been holding and glanced up at the night sky. He smiled. Together with the camouflage clothing he had brought, the darkness had played its part.

  As he emerged from the bushes he thought about his next move.

  - ooOoo -

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Day Eighteen: 4th April.

  Hunter was making his way across the station’s rear yard when he heard his name being called. He looked up to the first floor and saw Barry Newstead half-leaning out of an open window.

  Barry shouted, ‘There’s a DC on the phone from Devon and Cornwall wanting you. He says it’s important.’

  Hunter broke into a jog, quickly keyed in the door security code, took the back staircase two steps at a time and burst into the office.

  He checked Barry’s look, as he gestured towards his desk and Hunter spied the handset resting on his blotter.

  Taking a deep breath, he picked up the phone. ‘DS Kerr.’

  The person on the other line announced he was DC Highton based at Wadebridge.

  For ten minutes Hunter hung on to every word the detective said. He made copious notes on bits of scrap paper, and fired off the occasional question, but mostly, he listened. When he’d finished, before hanging up, he scouted the room. The person he wanted wasn’t in.

  He caught Barry’s gaze as he replaced the handset.

  Barry said, ‘Looking at that face, the words cat and cream come to mind.’

  ‘Just got a right result. Do you know where the gaffer is?’

  Barry flicked his head towards the far wall. ‘Last I saw, she was next door.’

  Hunter could hardly contain himself as he breezed into the HOLMES team’s office. He saw the Detective Superintendent checking through some house-to-house questionnaires. She had pulled up a chair and was sitting beside Isobel Stevens.

  ‘Boss, have you got a couple of minutes. I did what you asked yesterday – sent down a photograph of the green hooded cape and some information about our murders, to Devon and Cornwall, and a DC from Wadebridge has just got back to me. I think we’ve tracked down the origins of the cape found on Polly.’

  Dawn Leggate lowered her papers. ‘You have?’

  ‘Yes, an unsolved murder in Cornwall going back to 1986. In a place called Harlyn Bay. And get this, that’s the same place where Polly stayed on holiday.’

  ‘Good God, Hunter, that’s brilliant.’

  ‘I know, great result, isn’t it! Apparently, this DC’s dad is a retired DI, and he happened to be talking to him about our job and showed him the photo. The ex-DI is almost certain it’s from one of their unsolved murders. He worked on the case of a couple who were murdered while camping at Harlyn Bay. I’ve only got the sketchiest of details, so I’ve asked him to e-mail me or fax me something. He’s going to get some more from his dad and then see what he can get from their archives.’

  ‘Bugger that, Hunter. Get back onto him, and tell him you’re going down to speak personally with his dad. Sort out some accommodation, book out a pool car and take Grace with you. And don’t come back until you’ve detected our job.’ She flashed him a huge grin. ‘This is just what we’ve been waiting for.’

  - ooOoo -

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Day Nineteen: 5th April.

  Harlyn Bay, Cornwall.

  On a well-worn path down to Harlyn Bay beach Rodney Highton marched ahead of Hunter and Grace. A battering wind was meeting them headlong and making for an uncomfortable journey.

  Head down, Hunter called ahead, ‘Your son said on the phone that you’re fairly confident this job is connected to ours.’

  Above the sound of the wind Rodney shouted back. ‘After seeing the photo he showed me the other day, I’m almost one hundred per cent certain that hooded cloak he showed me belonged to our female victim. You did say it was found on a murdered girl, back in your neck-of-the-woods, didn’t you?’

  ‘A sixteen-year-old girl, called Polly Hayes. She was stabbed, while out walking her dog, in nineteen eighty-eight.’

  The former DI’s pace was slackening. ‘And our job was in nineteen eighty-six, two years earlier. That’s too much of a coincidence wouldn’t you say. I mean two females murdered. Ours was missing a green hooded cloak exactly like the one your girl was found wearing.’

  ‘She was found wrapped in it,’ corrected Hunter.

  ‘And you’ve also said your victim had holidayed down here?’

 
‘Two months before she was murdered.’

  Highton stepped down off the path onto the beach. Hunter and Grace followed. The sand was damp and compacted.

  Glancing back he continued, ‘And you’ve also said you believed the killer you’re hunting is swapping trophies between victims?’

  ‘Not believe anymore. We know that as a definite fact.’

  ‘Answers all the questions then! For me, this has to be the same killer.’ He turned and rubbed his hands. ‘I’ve been waiting years for this.’

  And so have I, thought Hunter.

  Heading off right, towards the jutting headland, Highton stopped after fifty yards of trudging through uneven wet sand. ‘This is roughly where we found the murder weapon – a scythe.’

  Hunter was only a couple of yards behind Rodney Highton, but he could only just make out what he was saying – the combination of crashing waves and the billowing wind, whipping in off the Atlantic Ocean, and the discordant cries of squawking seagulls, swooping and hovering around them, competed against his soft West Country accent. He leaned in and focussed on the wet patch of sand the retired DI was pointing to. He met his eyes and nodded. ‘Any forensics?’ Hunter asked.

  Rodney shook his head, ‘No. It had been in the sea for hours. It was only by sheer luck it was found. The tide was out.’

  Hunter followed the line of the man’s tilted-back head. He was looking up the sloping cliff face of the headland.

  Pointing upwards, Highton said, ‘We believe it was thrown from up there. There’s a path leading from the campsite. It goes all the way around the headland.’ He paused and added, ‘The weapon used to kill the couple was stolen from the outbuilding of a farm, half a mile away from here.’ The retired DI spun on his heels and faced Hunter and Grace. ‘Come on I’ll show you now where we found the bodies.’ As he set off the wind caught his coat and whipped it around him like a cape. It seemed to catch him unawares for a second and he staggered. Then, catching himself, he leaned into the buffeting wind and put in a military style march back the way they had come.