Grace pulled back her hands and stiffened. She felt her skin bristle and her chest tighten. Suddenly her thoughts were launched back to that night just over twelve months ago when the serial killer they were chasing abducted her eldest daughter. Catching the pleasure written all over Terrence Braithwaite’s face besieged her. She could feel anger rising.
Braithwaite said, ‘Oh I’m sorry Detective Marshall I didn’t mean to upset you, I was merely asking after Robyn’s welfare.’ His voice was slow and steady.
Hunter leaned forward, ‘Detective Constable Marshall’s daughter’s welfare is none of your concern Mr Braithwaite, now can we get back to the questions?’
Terrence Braithwaite diverted his eyes and fixed Hunter, ‘Oh I’m sorry Sergeant Kerr I was only enquiring after your colleague’s daughter. I didn’t mean to offend.’
‘Well, as I say this interview is about you.’
‘Of course, of course. My apologies once again.’ He wiped some spittle which had dribbled from the corner of his mouth. ‘And you Sergeant Kerr, you’re looking well despite your own personal ordeal.’
‘Ordeal?’
Winking he replied, ‘Your father wasn’t it? Got involved in some nasty business didn’t he?’
Hunter’s voice rose, ‘Mr Braithwaite my father has got nothing to do with you, now can we get on with this interview?’
Terrence Braithwaite’s mouth bore a lop-sided smirk.
His solicitor placed his pen down on the table with a loud retort. ‘We appear to have got off to a bad start here. I think we should take a short break.’ His pale blue eyes switched between Hunter and Grace. ‘Shall we say five minutes and begin again?’
Hunter switched off the recording machine and pushed back his chair. ‘I think we’d better Mr Chambers. He glared across the table, his eyes wide and fierce.
Grace pulled herself up. Fighting back a sudden bout of anxiety and avoiding eye contact with Braithwaite she said, ‘I’m just going to get a drink of water.’
‘And I could do with going to the toilet,’ said Saville Chambers, pushing aside his legal pad. The only marks he’d made on it were from his pen testing.
In the ladies room, Grace supported herself with locked arms on the edge of the sink and stared into the mirror. She could feel that her breathing was ragged and fought to bring it back under control by taking in great gulps of air. How the fuck had she let the interview be taken away from her? It took her the best part of two minutes to get back to normal breathing. The bastard! She cursed him as well as herself. She’d let Terrence Braithwaite get under her skin back there, but it won’t happen again, she told herself, pushing herself upright and checking her composure. Straightening her blouse she mouthed, ‘You’re mine, Terrence Arthur Braithwaite’ and made for the door.
Outside in the corridor she met the solicitor coming out of the gents rolling his hands over one another.
Suddenly, from the interview room a loud clatter resounded followed by a dull bang and a yelp.
Grace froze momentarily. She and the solicitor locked eyes and then both spurred into action, rushing to the interview room door.
Grace got there first and flung it open. She was confronted by Hunter standing yards from the table holding up his hands in surrender. His face bore a surprised, almost shocked look. The other side of the door she caught sight of Terrence Braithwaite. He was bent over the table, his face in his hands, blood trickling through his fingers, splodges falling onto the oak veneer surface. His chair was lying sideways on the floor. She was conscious of the solicitor breathing over her shoulder.
Hunter cried, ‘He did that!’
Braithwaite glanced up, a pained look in his deep set eyes.
His solicitor brushed past Grace and placed a pair of caring hands on his client’s shoulders. ‘What’s happened Terry?’
‘I’ll tell you what happened,’ growled Hunter stepping forward, ‘He smashed his own face on the table and he’s trying to make it look as though I’ve done it.’
Terrence Braithwaite mumbled, ‘Sergeant Kerr attacked me over nothing.’
Grace stared at Hunter trying to read the look on his face. She knew from past experience that her partner had a sharp temper, and she had witnessed him manhandle suspects a little too fiercely at times when they’ve decided to resist, but she had never known him assault a person during an interview before. This was totally out of character, and she wondered if Braithwaite had continued to taunt Hunter while she’d been in the toilet. Diverting her gaze back to Braithwaite she saw that he was attempting to stem the flow of blood coming from his nose and mouth. What had started out as a very promising day had deteriorated to rat-shit.
* * *
Hunter and Grace were back in Detective Superintendent Dawn Leggate’s office, standing before her.
She was bracing herself back in her chair, her face flushed. ‘Don’t you think I’ve got enough problems on my plate at the moment?’
Hunter almost stood to attention, a mixture of hurt and fury swirling around inside. Not only had he been unable to convince Grace that he had not attacked Braithwaite on the journey back to Barnwell, but now he was suffering the same torment from his boss. It felt like the Spanish Inquisition. Suppressing his annoyance he responded, ‘I can put my hand on my heart ma’am and say that I did not assault Terrence Braithwaite.’
‘For Christ’s sake Hunter don’t call me ma’am – you make me sound like the bloody Queen Mother.’ She shook her head. ‘I’ve had a superintendent from East Yorkshire on speakerphone bending my ear for the best part of half an hour this afternoon accusing me of sending across officers under my jurisdiction to assault a vulnerable pensioner in one of his police stations. Even if you didn’t assault him it’s bloody embarrassing having my, and my officer’s professionalism challenged. Don’t you see that?’ She turned to Grace. ‘Did you witness what went off?’
Grace swallowed hard. Biting down on her lower lip she answered, ‘No, I’m sorry I was in the toilet boss.’
‘So we just have Braithwaite’s word against yours Hunter?’
Hunter nodded, ‘I promise you, boss I didn’t do anything. Braithwaite bashed his own face on the table.’
She huffed loudly. ‘I really could do without all this.’
‘I’m sorry boss. Genuinely I am. I never asked for this to happen.’
‘And neither did I. You cocked up a simple job.’ She spat back.
Hunter wanted to respond. He resented being accused of something he hadn’t done, but he knew now wasn’t the time to say anything. His SIO was under pressure, not only because of the murder investigation but also with what was going on her personal life. He just wished she would cut him some slack.
Taking a deep breath, she said, ‘Braithwaite’s solicitor has lodged a formal complaint. You know what that means – Professional Standards will want to interview you both. I suggest the pair of you get your heads down and prepare your statements before you go home. Now let me get on with my job.’ With that she dismissed them with a flick of her hand.
* * *
Dumping her bag down on the kitchen work surface Dawn Leggate caught her reflection in her make-up mirror. She barely recognised herself; her face seemed thinner and so pale. She looked tired. She was tired. In fact, she was exhausted. Things were taking their toll; she had just spent thirteen hours in the incident room and another hour by Michael’s bedside – who still hadn’t come round, adding to her angst.
Once it’s over, and Michael’s out of the woods, then I can switch off and take a break. She knew what she needed; opening the fridge door she took out a chilled bottle of wine, poured herself a glass and took a large swallow. Instantly the crisp, fruity taste refreshed her taste buds while the coldness hitting the back of her throat invigorated her. She took another swallow, holding this one in her mouth she tipped back her head, closed her eyes and savoured the flavours. A sudden sense of guilt overcame her. She knew she’d been hard on Hunter: Been hard on Hunter and Grace. She
should have given them the opportunity to explain the circumstances of what had gone on instead of dismissing them like naughty schoolchildren. She needed to make amends for her behaviour. As their senior officer, she knew she should have behaved more professionally. They were the best on her team and she should have made it known she was supporting them. She knew that Hunter could be a loose cannon at times, but assault someone in a police station? Provoked or not, she knew that wasn’t his style. She’d speak to him first thing to tomorrow morning and make amends. Finishing her glass of wine, she poured herself another. Suddenly she realised how hungry she was. With the fridge door still open she scoured the shelves; three eggs, a tomato, a piece of withered cucumber and an out of date packet of mixed salad. She sighed. What with everything that had gone on she’d not had time to shop. Without warning tears filled her eyes. She felt herself filling up. Seconds later she started to sob.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
In his kitchen, Terrence Arthur Braithwaite made himself a cup of tea, a huge grin smearing his face as he stirred the teabag around in his mug. He was thinking about Detective Kerr. His nose was still sore and swollen but his actions had been worthwhile. He had already made an official complaint and knew the consequences of that would be that the detective would be warned to back off. He squashed the teabag against the rim of his mug and dumped it in the bin, musing on the next step. Although Detective Kerr and his female partner were off his back, there was still the worry of the skeletons they had unearthed, although he was pretty sure that when they buried them they’d left no evidence which would lead back to him, nevertheless he needed to make plans. What did they say about failing to plan?
As he opened his fridge to get the milk, music started up next door. Status Quo – Down, Down. It was blaring, the beat vibrating the walls.
That fucking moron!
He had already had several run-ins with Eric over the loud music. When it had first happened, a week to the day after he had moved in, he had ignored it, especially knowing that his neighbour had been seriously injured in a motorcycle accident and was wheelchair bound. But then the frequency of it started to wear him down, especially when it had gone on until well after midnight. After three weeks of enduring thunderous rock music he’d decided to nip around and have a quiet word: ask him if he could turn it down a fraction and not play it so late into the night. He had gone around the morning after one of Eric’s late night sessions that had kept him awake until 1a.m. The kitchen door was open and a stripped down motorcycle was the first thing that presented itself to him, oil leaking from its engine, staining the floor. He’d banged on the door but got no response and so he’d gone in. The kitchen was a tip. Filthy pots everywhere. The table was full of engine bits and motorcycle memorabilia. Eric had been in the front room. It was only 10.30 in the morning but he was drinking strong foreign lager from a can. He’d introduced himself and then started to mention the music. He asked Eric if he could play it not so loud. Instead of being neighbourly Eric had laughed at him. Told him to fuck off, and said ‘I’ll play it as loud as I want old man.’ That had instantly got his back up. If he’d have still been in prison he’d have sorted him out. There and then. But he hadn’t been in prison. He was a free man and wanted to remain that way and so decided better of it and left, fuming with anger. He had only just got back inside his house when Eric had started up again, cranking up the volume even louder. Deliberately winding him up. The fat bastard! It had gone on like this – at least three times a week – for the past two years.
Stirring milk into his tea, he slammed the fridge door shut and slung the spoon into the sink. One day he was going to shove those vinyl’s right down his fucking throat!
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
DAY TEN
Following a restless night Hunter rose early, slipped on his joggers, hoody and trainers and ran to work. With every pounding footfall he mulled over yesterday’s events, cursing Terrence Braithwaite for what he done and beating himself up for not seeing it coming. His feelings were just as bitter towards Grace and Dawn Leggate; it was as if they didn’t believe him. Maybe he could believe it of his boss because she didn’t know him that well, but not Grace. That hurt him.
Taking longer than normal in the shower in the gents changing room, he changed into the suit he kept in his locker and made his way upstairs to the MIT office. He was the first in. Checking the incident board to see that nothing new had been added, he made his way to his desk, skirting around the boxes surrounding his workspace. Sitting down, he took one look at them and reminded himself again that he needed to sort out his files before the impending move. Dragging back his gaze he settled his eyes upon the accumulation of paperwork in his pending tray, and let out a heavy sigh as he picked out a bundle and laid it across his jotter.
He had just read the opening paragraph of his first report when he heard the office door open. Glancing over his shoulder he saw Detective Superintendent Leggate struggling to push her way through; she was fighting to slip one arm out of her coat while juggling with her handbag and briefcase. Deliberately avoiding eye contact he returned to his paperwork.
Seconds later she was standing over him, depositing her bags and her coat on Grace’s desk. ‘I owe you an apology,’ she said, ‘But first I need a coffee. Can I get you a tea – that’s what you prefer isn’t it?’ With that, she made her way to where the tea and coffee making facilities were on top of a small filing cabinet and began messing with the cups and kettle.
Hunter looked up and saw her looking back over her shoulder.
Dawn said, ‘I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did – you and Grace. Of course I believe you Hunter. I know that you don’t always work to the rules, and you certainly don’t like anyone to get top side of you, but you’re no bully.’
Hunter observed her face. In that moment her words resonated around inside his head and he could feel relief swamping his body. For some strange reason he found himself choking back tears – he never felt like this. Swallowing hard he said, ‘Thanks boss that means a lot to me. I honestly swear that I never laid a finger on him.’
She held his gaze a good few seconds. ‘I believe you Hunter. I’m going to speak with Professional Standards this morning and see who’s handling the complaint. I’m going to have my say before they come and interview you. I know that’s what Michael would have done if he was still your boss.’ She returned her eyes back to the boiling kettle. ‘Now how do you like your tea?’
* * *
Dawn stuck a black and white photograph of a Victorian single storey terrace with wooden sash windows and a panelled front door up on the whiteboard, and jabbed a finger at it. ‘Sixteen Chapel Street,’ she said, looking around the room. She saw that she had her team’s fullest attention. ‘The home of Terrence Arthur Braithwaite, kindly supplied to us by The Chronicle. This is what it looked like in nineteen-seventy-two following his arrest for the murder of seventeen-year-old Glynis Young.’ She gave the photo a quick glance and then continued. ‘Yesterday a team began excavating the foundations of this house and we are hopeful that by the end of the day all the rubble will be cleared and we will have full access to the cellar so we can begin a forensic examination. Whether we find anything or not is in the lap of the gods but, following the discovery of our two bodies, one of them buried by the boundary of this address, it’s something we can no longer afford to miss.’ She paused, roaming her eyes amongst her squad. ‘Now everyone, update. The DNA result has come back for our second victim – I can confirm she is Lesley Jane Warren. That means we can focus just on the flat in Chapeltown where both she and Ann Marie lived. A forensics team are on their second day there and they have found some blood in the lounge carpet and on the stairwell leading to the back hallway. That has already gone off for analysis to see if it belongs to either of our victims. Following that discovery, I’ve spoken with the Press Office and we’re going to do a reconstruction, focussing on the weekend they both disappeared from that address. I am also going to organise a
plea to the street workers who were associates of Ann Marie and Lesley. Its thirty-five years ago now – many of them will have moved on and will more than likely not want to talk about their past. However, let’s not that daunt us. It just means we’ll have to work that much harder. It will be going out on Crimewatch and the regional news. Our prompt for viewers will be the beginning of the Miners’ Strike.’ She saw some of her team screw up their faces. ‘I know, not something I would have chosen, especially given South Yorkshire’s role in all that, but it’s something which will help highlight the date when they were taken and killed. And on that note it’s fair to say that the killer of Ann Marie and Lesley is one and the same, and the person that tops our list is Terrence Arthur Braithwaite.’ She tapped her fingers over his head-and-shoulders mug shot. ‘And what we also need to look at, especially given what Susan Braddock has said, is that he was working with someone else. Who that person is, we have no idea and so this is what I want you to concentrate on.’ She removed her hand from Braithwaite’s photograph. ‘From today we start peeling back the layers of Braithwaite’s past. We go back to Rampton Secure Hospital and get a list of everyone whoever visited him while he was held there. We speak with Probation – see what they have in their records regarding associates. And we make discreet enquiries around where he currently lives and see if anyone has noticed any one person in particular regularly visiting Braithwaite. We also request his phone records. If he did murder Ann Marie and Lesley with someone else, then more than likely they will still be in contact with one another. What we won’t do now is re-interview Braithwaite. Following what happened yesterday, we know that is not going to get us anywhere.’ She focussed her gaze upon Hunter and Grace, ‘And that bears no reflection on you two. Braithwaite is a lot more cunning than we anticipated.’ She brought back her eyes and skirted them around the team. ‘Or at least he thinks he is. He’s going to be on his guard now, but if we stay focussed he will slip up and that’s when we pounce.’
Shadow of the Beast: A DS Hunter Kerr Novel Page 14