Over the past week he and his partner had cleared up twenty three burglaries committed by a team of four teenage tearaways who were now on remand in a young offender’s institution. And that was only what they were admitting. It had been amazing that since their arrest only two house break-ins had been reported. It was obvious that the team were responsible for a lot more, but he guessed he would only know that when they were sentenced and begged him for a prison visit to ‘clear their slate,’ so that they wouldn’t be arrested again when they were released.
Hunter was in the final month of his six month CID aide period and things had gone very well. The contacts and informants he had built up from his previous three and a half years working the streets in uniform had ensured an impressive number of arrests. The Detective Inspector had already congratulated him on many occasions on the quality of his ‘collars’ and he had also been promised a good report and an early entrance into the Criminal Investigation Department at Barnwell.
The strident ringing of the phone on his desk made Hunter jump. He pulled the pen from his mouth and snatched up the handset from its cradle. “PC Kerr, CID” he announced.
“Hunter,” an excited voice rasped down the line. He immediately recognised the high-pitched voice of his working buddy, Paul Goodright.
“Listen I’m up shit creek, the car’s been nicked.”
Hunter clamped the handset between head and shoulder and with pen poised over a pad of paper made ready to jot down information.
“What do you mean nicked?”
“Just get the other car and come and pick me up on Church Street.”
For a few seconds there was silence, then Paul blurted down the line, “And don’t say anything to uniform...yet.”
The call ended.
Hunter rose quickly and began scanning the desks in the office for the spare set of CID car keys. He urgently moved crime reports and files around in other officer’s trays knowing the keys would be somewhere amongst the paperwork. At the same time his thoughts rolled back to the conversation with Paul an hour earlier. His partner had smiled mischievously when he had mentioned he had an enquiry to do and would be back in an hour or two. Hunter immediately knew from the expression on his face that what Paul really meant was that ‘he was off shagging’ and needed him to cover. And although deep down he had disapproved he had chosen not to voice his thoughts. After all, Paul was two years greater in service and an established detective. Besides that Hunter enjoyed having Paul as a partner. The pair had ‘hit it off’ very quickly and already established themselves as a formidable partnership within the department. And despite not having the experience of some of the more seasoned detectives’ in the office both had more hunger and enthusiasm when it came to chasing villains.
Hunter found his colleague pacing excitedly on the footpath outside a block of flats on Church Street. As he pulled up beside him Paul flung open the car door and dropped into the passenger seat.
“This is my worst nightmare. I can’t believe that some little bastard’s nicked the car. I’ll fucking kill him when I get hold of him. It was in the car park at the side there.” He pointed back towards the flats. “Before I report it in we’ll run round all the dumping spots and if we don’t find it I need you to back me up with a cover story.”
As Hunter pulled away from the kerbside he could see Paul anxiously wiping away beads of sweat, which had formed on his brow.
* * * * *
For half an hour he drove furiously around the twisting unlit country roads on the edge of town, roaring past slower cars and then cutting them up as he forced the Fiesta back into the correct lane. On several occasions he laughed loudly, even though there was no one else to hear. He wondered if that CID guy had discovered the car had gone yet. As he increased speed, so the sensation swelled inside. He felt wired. His alert eyes were as dark as the night around him, and he focused intensely on the surroundings as they flew by. Ahead lay a series of bends and he pushed the car’s engine until he could feel it throbbing on its mountings. Then he eased off and decided to head back to Barnwell.
He was approaching the outskirts of town when he noticed her standing at the side of a bus stop. Carol Siddons. She was blowing into her hands and stamping her feet. He slung the car hard left and hit the brakes. The tyres squealed as he skidded to a halt beside her.
She looked up as he leaned across the passenger seat and wound down the window. Bending down she peered inside, squinting to see who the driver was. “Oh it’s you,” she said. “Where did you get this from?”
“Nicked it,” he responded “And guess what, it’s a cop car”
“Yeah all right, spin me another.”
“Don’t believe me eh? Well look at this then.” He picked up the police radio handset from the dash and thrust it towards her. “Believe me now then?”
She started giggling “Bloody hell you’re going be in some serious shit if they catch you.”
“Naaw, no chance of that. Fancy a spin?”
“You are joking.”
“No come on. I’m gonna dump it soon. I’ll give you a run round and then drop you off home, before I get shut.”
He sensed her hesitate. “Come on its freezing out there and the bus might not come for ages.” He flipped up the door catch and pushed it open. The glow of the interior light shone on his grinning face. “Come on, live on the edge.”
Carol Siddons looked around. Nothing stirred. She edged forward apprehensively, took another look around, and then slipped into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind her. “Come on let’s get out of here fast you crazy bastard.”
He forced his right foot onto the accelerator and the Fiesta screeched away.
As he tore around the country roads again he was conscious of Carol’s excited jabberings, though he was unable to decipher exactly what she was saying as he concentrated on the narrow lane ahead, his focus shooting back and forth between road and rear view mirror. His arms ached as he gripped the steering wheel, and as he checked his speedometer he realized he was shaking and sweating profusely.
Throwing the car into a sharp bend, far too late he spotted the rear lights of another car. Instinctively, he smashed his foot down onto the brake. His effort was in vain and there was a spontaneous thump as the Fiesta smashed into the back of the other car. In a split-second reaction he swung the steering wheel to the right and the tyres protested with a concerted squeal. There was a loud scraping noise as metal gouged metal and the car in front bucked and slewed sideways towards a wall by the side of the road.
He felt the Fiesta’s engine surge and almost stall as he fought to disentangle it from the other car. It crabbed sideways for several yards before he managed to bring it back under control and point it back in the direction he had been heading. Quickly glancing back, he saw that the other car had embedded itself in the stone wall. Without warning, there was a loud whoosh as the front of it exploded in a fireball. Within seconds searing incandescent gashes of red and yellow flame were licking from beneath the wheel arches and up onto the bonnet and windscreen.
“Fucking hell.” Carol screamed.
He hammered his foot down onto the accelerator and with a squeal of rubber on tarmac, sped away from the carnage.
Every nerve in his body was straining and he became acutely conscious of every sound around him as he sped through the countryside.
After ten minutes, he found the unmade track that he knew wound its way towards the old pit coking plant, no longer in production since the demise of the mine five years previously. He slewed the car to a halt, the wheels sliding slightly on the rutted and muddied track, threw open the driver’s door, jerked his head out and threw up violently into a puddle of oily water.
“You crazy bastard.” He heard Carol shout. “You fucking crazy bastard”
He glared across at her. She was pale faced. He studied her features. He had always thought she was pretty and yet now in a surreal way he found her scared look even more attractive. A tingling sens
ation erupted in his groin.
Snapping himself out of his thoughts he launched himself out of the Fiesta and listened intently. Every sound was distant. They had not been followed. He could now see finger-like wisps of fog drifting over the fields surrounding them and he knew that in an hour or so its blanket would provide cover for him to disappear and for the car to lie undiscovered until at least first light.
Carol joined him. She was shouting at him, swearing and stabbing his chest with her finger.
“Pipe down for Christ’s sake.” he spat back, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.
“You’re fucking mad. Did you see what happened to that car you hit? It blew up. Jesus I can’t believe this. We are in some serious shit now. You know that don’t you?”
He put a finger to his mouth and moved towards her. Then he grabbed hold of her shoulders and fixed her stare. He could see the panic and fear in Carol’s eyes. He knew he needed to calm her down. “Everything’s gonna be okay. Don’t worry.”
“Don’t worry he says. You’ve probably killed somebody you stupid bastard.”
“Don’t call me stupid Carol. I’m not stupid.” His features changed. They took on a distinct hardness and his dark eyes became glassy.
“No you are not stupid.” she growled, screwing up her eyes. “You’re fucking crazy.”
He finally snapped. The punch was swift, smashing into her face. He felt her nose give and heard the snap as the bridge broke. He saw the film of tears flood her eyes as she sank to her knees.
Gulping back sobs she glanced up at him, “Now you’ve fucking done it, I’m going to the cops myself” she choked.
He quickly unfastened the buckle on his belt, whipped it through the loops of his waistband and gripped both ends. It was around Carol’s neck in a second and as he tightened it around her throat he saw her big brown eyes bulge.
Just like Bob-Tail’s.
A malevolent look masked his face as he pulled her close. The corners of his mouth curled upwards as she thrashed and clawed for survival. Less than a minute later he squeezed out her last breath.
Bob-Tail is staring back. Didn’t someone once tell him that the image of their killer was captured in the eyes as they died?
Well mine is the last face she’ll ever see and Carol Siddons is not going to identify me to anyone.
- ooOoo -
CHAPTER ONE
DAY ONE OF THE INVESTIGATION: 6th July 2008
She bucked and jerked wildly and he had to bear down all of his twelve stone onto her wiry, yet well toned young body, as her limbs smacked against his.
Every sign she was fighting for her life.
Then the air exploded from her chest for the last time and at last she lay still.
Gasping for breath and drenched in sweat he pushed himself up from her limp figure. He had thought that she was never going to die. He had been amazed at the fight she had put up. He took in several deep breaths and tried to slow his racing heartbeat, watching in fascination as dark viscous blood belched from her eye sockets, joining other rivulets which were already matting her dark bob of hair and forming a pool around her head.
Bending down he scraped the mess from his knife into the dusty earth and then dropped it into his coat pocket and set to work.
He couldn’t leave her body here.
Dragging the bloodied corpse by the wrists along the flagstone floor he soon found himself gasping for breath again and he could feel fresh beads of sweat tickling his rib cage as he hauled her towards the barn entrance.
Then a distant unfamiliar noise caught his attention; a noise which didn’t belong to the surroundings. He paused and listened. It was coming nearer. He dropped the girl’s arms and dashed to an opening slit in the barn wall, threw himself against the damp walls and twisted his head sideway to peer through the gap without being seen. For a split-second the sunlight blurred his vision but as it cleared he spotted a flat-back lorry bouncing along the uneven farm track, coming his way.
He closed his eyes and held his breath. Then he gritted his teeth and cursed. He couldn’t believe his bad luck. He had sought out this place especially for its remoteness, regularly visiting the place at different times over the past few weeks to finalise his plan. In all that time no one had come near and now today of all days he had a visitor. For a few seconds he thought about killing the driver, but then realised he didn’t know this adversary.
He swung his gaze back along the lane. The truck was now only a few hundred yards away and there was no sign of it stopping.
He took one last look at the lifeless form quickly realising he was left with no other choice but to make his escape; leaving behind this bloodied mess. He couldn’t afford to be caught. Not after all this time.
“Damn” he cussed, realising he wouldn’t be able to finish off what he had set out to do. He slipped the playing card from his trouser pocket and suit side up placed it over the gaping wound in the middle of her chest. After all he had to let them know this was his handiwork again.
Then he bolted towards the rear of the barn where there was a windowless opening, vaulted through its gap and sprinted towards a thick hawthorn hedgerow that ran the length of the hayfield.
* * * * *
Dennis O’Brian swung the Bedford lorry through the broken entranceway that led to the tumbledown farm and braked sharply, throwing up a cloud of dust. Surveying the old Yorkshire stone buildings in a bad state of repair he smiled to himself. Then making a quick call on his mobile, he shut down the engine, flung open the driver’s door and leapt out of the cab. For a good few seconds he scanned the ramshackle buildings, weighing up which portions of stone would reap the most rewards.
Then he froze and his heart skipped a beat as he caught the sound of running feet. He was just about to leap back into his truck when he realised the footfalls were actually growing fainter. Whoever had been here must be fleeing he thought. A grin snaked across his mouth and he chuckled to himself. He bet it was another stone thief who thought he was going to be caught.
As he stepped out of the sunlight into the dimness of the barn’s interior he wasn’t prepared for what greeted him. Sprawled across the uneven dirt floor was a lifeless and bloody form. Only from the clothing could he tell it was a girl; the injuries inflicted upon the teenager were like nothing he had ever seen.
He began to retch as he fished in his jeans pocket for his mobile.
* * * * *
Pushing the CID car’s door to with his hip, Detective Sergeant Hunter Kerr paused for a moment and gathered his thoughts whilst casting his gaze out over the very active crime scene before him. He watched a line of uniformed Officers, regular intervals apart, pushing their way slowly through waist high crops, their white short-sleeved shirts standing out against a backdrop of lush green trees.
Above him the Force helicopter hovered, the drumming noise of its rotor blades disturbing the peacefulness of the surroundings.
He had raced here at breakneck speeds, all the time listening to the up-dates being broadcast over his radio. By the time he had arrived he had gained enough information to enable him to formulate a picture in his mind of what had happened.
Strafing the surroundings with his steel blue eyes he knew that in one of the dilapidated and derelict farm buildings ahead a young girl’s battered body had been found, and that her killer had fled the area only about an hour beforehand, and right at this moment, everything was being done as quickly and thoroughly as possible to track down her slayer and secure the site.
Hunter knew this area well. As an amateur artist he had visited this location on many occasions and painted the subjects in the vicinity. In fact, the old farm buildings had been captured many times in his oil sketches. He found it quite disconcerting that suddenly such beautiful surroundings, which featured in paintings back home, were now centre stage in a gruesome discovery.
“Hi Sarge.”
Hunter recognised the voice immediately and turned to see his partner DC Grace Marsh
all tramping towards him at pace. In her smart, pale grey, business suit he couldn’t help but think that Grace looked more the confident professional business woman, than a hard working front line murder detective.
As she approached he saw that she was corralling her dark corkscrew curled hair into an elastic scrunchy. Her face was set grim.
“It’s bad in there Hunter. You ought to see what he’s done to her.”
“Tell me what you’ve learned then Grace.”
“We’re fairly confident that it’s the body of one Rebecca Morris. A fourteen year old girl who was reported missing only a few hours ago. Apparently she didn’t turn up for an exam at her school this morning.” Grace finished bunching her hair. “She’s in a real mess. Her face is hardly recognisable. No one’s moved or touched the body yet. First uniform on site could see from the state of her that she was dead and immediately cordoned off the area. The three nine’s call came from a guy who had driven here in his flat-back lorry. He’s now back at the station being interviewed. His story is that he just happened to be driving up the track to the farm for a quick ten minutes rest, but my guess is that he was going to nick some of the stone or slates from here. Anyway he says he just got out of his cab, heard the sound of someone running from the back of one of the buildings and then a car starting up and screeching away. When he goes round to look he finds the girl dead in the barn.”
“And do we believe him?”
“No reason not to at the moment. The local cops know him fairly well. He’s got previous for nicking stone and lead from church roofs. He’s also got a couple of convictions for drunk and disorderly but those are over fifteen years old, and he’s got nothing for violence. And to be fair he did ring it in and stick around until uniform arrived and they say he appeared to be really genuinely shook up over it. I’ve had him lodged in a cell and he can stew there for a couple of hours til’ we’re clear from here. I’ll get a statement from him and then kick him out. That’ll serve him right for coming here to nick stone on my patch. ”
Reap What You Sow: From the case files of D.S. Hunter Kerr (Caffeine Nights Short Shots Book 1) Page 3