‘I have someone in mind for the stranger.’
Maddie’s eyebrows raised. ‘Who?’
‘Does the name Dylan Wolfe mean anything to you?’
Maddie shook her head.
‘Dylan Wolfe raped three woman and stabbed his girlfriend back in nineteen-ninety-one. One of the women he raped died from a heart attack, and he was charged with her manslaughter. She lived only four streets away from the Bannister home, and he committed that rape in November, five months after their disappearance. His other two victims lived less than a mile from the Bannisters as well.’
‘I’m presuming this Dylan Wolfe was caught.’
Hunter gave a quick nod. ‘Me and Barry Newstead arrested him. He got life.’
‘Wasn’t he interviewed about other offences he might have committed?’
‘Although he initially confessed, he “no commented” all through his interview at the police station. Barry went to see him later in prison, but he just turned his back on him. Wouldn’t say a word. Barry told me that he was convinced that Dylan had committed more offences.’
‘But his attacks were all on women, you’ve just said. And they were rapes.’
‘There was one attack which wasn’t rape. He stabbed his girlfriend. And he tried to stab me when I arrested him. It was only my police radio that saved me. Dylan was not just a rapist but a nasty, violent man.’
‘So you think he could be responsible for killing David, Tina and Amy?’
‘I think it’s something we should look at. I know from first-hand experience what he was capable of back then. And their home was certainly in close proximity with his hunting ground. We haven’t bottomed who the stranger was at their front door on the day they disappeared, and we know David came home at lunchtime that day. What if he disturbed Dylan raping Tina? We know there was a disturbance of some kind in the lounge from the smashed photo frame. Let’s say David and Dylan fought and Dylan stabs David and kills him in the kitchen. That would account for all the blood. Dylan then tries to clear up the mess and then later that evening brings a car, parks in the alleyway, loads their bodies away and them dumps them all somewhere. Then he comes back for David’s car and dumps that. Denise Harris told us she saw a car in the alleyway next to their house that her husband identifies as a Peugeot and not David’s, and when me and Barry arrested Dylan he was working in a car dismantlers yard at Kilnhurst, just a mile from their home. The yard would be a great place to hide David’s car and then break it up.’
‘You’ve put forward a credible scenario, and given what you’ve just said about his other victims all being in relatively close proximity, he’s certainly worth looking at. But we’re going to have to do some leg-work and digging before we go and interview him in prison, especially if he’s already refused to talk during one visit.’
‘That’s why I’m trying to track down George Evers, David’s former work colleague, who saw Tina talking with someone in a pub and then saw a man leaving her house. They might be the one and the same person, or they might be two different people. I want to show him Dylan Wolfe’s mugshot from when he was arrested back in nineteen-ninety-one and see if he recognises him.’ Hunter paused a second, letting Maddie digest his proposal, then he said, ‘There’s another factor as well that’s swaying me away from David killing his wife and daughter.’
Maddie gave him a questioning look. ‘What’s that?’
‘Remember his mum told us that David doted on his daughter and would never have harmed her? Amy had not done anything wrong and she was certainly too young to be a witness. Why would he kill her if he thought the world of her? Surely he would have just left her in the house to be found? Or even took her round to his mum’s before killing Tina and killing himself?’ Hunter shook his head. ‘There are just too many question marks over this case, Maddie.’
‘Well, I’ve already mentioned the DCI is the man you need to speak with to get some of these answers. Why don’t you go and talk to him?’
‘What, and get my head chewed off because he thinks I’m calling him incompetent? No, I’ve had enough grief from him for one week. I’m also still waiting for a response from forensics. I’ll see what they come up with, and I’ll see if I can track down George Evers, and then if there are still gaps, I’ll approach him.’
Hunter set to work on tracing George Evers, and of the twenty-seven he had listed, he found phone numbers for fifteen. His plan was to call the one living nearest to Barnwell first and then work his way outwards. If the George Evers wasn’t among any of these, then for the twelve he hadn’t telephone numbers listed for, he would send an email to their nearest police force requesting an officer pay them a visit until he tracked down his man.
Within a quarter of an hour, he had spoken with three — none of whom were the right George Evers — and left a message for a fourth, and then he was distracted by his computer pinging, letting him know he had an incoming email. Glancing at the screen, he saw it was from the forensic lab at Wetherby and he broke away from his task to read it. The news was what he had been hoping for. The Forensics Evidence Manager replied that the department still held all the samples relating to the Bannister case, which included swabs from the kitchen.
Hunter rested his chin on his hand, musing over the news. He knew that testing for DNA was very much in its infancy in 1991 and had only been requested in the most serious of cases back then. The ‘missing’ category placed on the Bannister casefile hadn’t warranted spending on that procedure. Added to that, bleach had been used to clean up the blood, thereby deeming the sample badly corrupted. Since then, however, techniques to separate and harvest samples, not only from blood but other trace evidence such as sweat or saliva, had vastly improved. This advancement meant he could test his theory about Dylan Wolfe’s involvement, and the result would either support or destroy it. He had no option now but to go and see St. John-Stevens, as he held the budget to approve the analysis.
Maddie wished him good luck with a cheeky smile, and Hunter made his way along the corridor to the opposite wing where his old office was. He was buzzed through by a detective from the Public Protection Unit, who gave Hunter a cautionary look as he ambled past, heading for St. John-Stevens’ office. Hunter saw his silhouette seated at his desk through the green smoked glass panels, and he tapped on the door and went in.
St. John-Stevens raised his head slightly, looking over the top of his glasses. He had a thick document in front of him. ‘DS Kerr, to what do I owe this pleasure?’
Sarcastic twat, Hunter thought to himself, biting his lip. He replied, ‘Have you got a couple of minutes, boss? I just want to run something past you.’ He knew he preferred to be called sir, so Hunter deliberately avoided using the term.
St. John-Stevens removed his glasses and gave him a steady glare. ‘Is this going to be a long conversation? I’ve got a busy schedule today. I have to be at headquarters in three-quarters of an hour for a Gold Meeting. Can this wait?’
‘Well, I suppose it can, but I don’t think this will take long.’
‘Look, if it’s about your move to the Cold Case Unit, we’ve already had this discussion. I’ve done this because I have your welfare to consider…’
‘It’s not about that at all,’ Hunter interrupted. ‘No, I’m quite enjoying myself. It’s nothing like I anticipated. I’m getting myself involved in some really juicy cases and Maddie Scott is a lovely detective to work with.’ Hunter paused, watching the DCI’s face as his reply sunk in. He saw from his look the DCI hadn’t been expecting him to say that. He thought he looked quite irked by it, which instantly pleased him. Buoyed, he continued, ‘It’s one of those cases I’ve come to see you about. I’ve just had a reply from the forensics lab after I made a request to see if some blood samples had been retained from a crime scene. I want permission to get those analysed for DNA.’ Hunter avoided telling him what the case was.
‘What’s the case?’
‘Well, it’s been filed as missing persons presumed dead, but fol
lowing enquiries, I believe something’s happened to them.’
‘You mean murder?’
‘That’s a lead I’m following.’
St. John-Stevens held his glasses between finger and thumb and began rolling them. ‘Interesting. Where’s the person missing from? Local?’
Hunter nodded, clenching his teeth.
‘When was this?’
‘Nineteen-ninety-one.’ Hunter felt his guts flip.
‘Nineteen-ninety-one,’ the DCI responded, jerking up. ‘I was a temporary detective back then in Barnwell. What are they called?’
No avoiding it now. ‘David, Tina and Amy Bannister.’
‘The Bannisters?’
‘From Wath Road.’
‘I know where they were from, DS Kerr. That was my case.’
‘Yes, I know that, boss.’
‘And don’t call me boss. I prefer sir.’
Hunter could see his face was starting to go red.
After a short pause, the DCI said, ‘And why are you looking at that case?’
‘Because I’m reviewing it.’
‘You’re doing what?’
Hunter saw that St. John-Stevens’ face was now beetroot. He had expected this and hoped to be able to avoid mentioning the case. This was the last thing he needed. He replied, ‘I’ve started reviewing it and found a few leads that I think warrant following up.’
‘Leads! Such as?’
‘Well, as I say, bloodstains at the scene. You’ll probably remember that someone had cleaned up an awful lot of blood in the kitchen with bleach and that it wasn’t tested for DNA back then because the technique was still in its infancy.’
‘That’s because I knew it was from Tina, after David killed her.’
‘But we don’t know that for definite. The report says the sample was corrupted by the bleach and so it wasn’t tested. We can now do a DNA test, and that would prove if it belonged to Tina or if it was from someone else.’
‘And who else would it belong to? I carried out that investigation thoroughly and the conclusion was that David had killed his wife and his daughter and then killed himself, dumping himself and his family in one of the lakes or rivers around here.’
‘Yes, I’ve gathered all that from the summary.’ Hunter could already see he had agitated the DCI and held back on disclosing the information he had recently unearthed.
‘So, are you challenging my decision then, DS Kerr?’
St. John-Stevens’ voice was now several pitches higher. Hunter guessed they would be able to hear him in offices back down the corridor. He answered, ‘No, I’m not by any means, it’s just that a couple of things have cropped up that have given me another angle I’d like to explore.’
‘Another angle?’ the DCI spluttered. ‘And what exactly is this other angle?’
‘That they were possibly murdered by someone else, who then cleaned up after them and dumped the bodies and David’s car somewhere different to where you believe.’
‘What? This stops now, DS Kerr. I spent weeks on that case. I followed up every lead. I interviewed the Bannisters’ families, their work colleagues, neighbours and friends and at the end of it I came to a credible decision, based on evidence and not some fanciful idea that you are now presenting. This ends here and now. You do not waste any more valuable time following up a lead that will go nowhere. And as for your request to get the blood sample analysed, I am not wasting my hard-pressed budget on a detective who quite clearly is not up to the mark. I think that incident on Sark has affected you a lot more than you’re pretending.’ St. John-Stevens leaned forward. ‘My instruction to you, DS Kerr, is to file the Bannister case and do no more unnecessary work on it. Do you understand?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. And don’t let me see or hear any more nonsense from you, or you will leave me no other option but to place you on restricted duties. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Very.’
‘Good. Now don’t waste any more of my time. Some of us have important work to do.’
Inside, Hunter was a seething ball of fury. He could feel his fingernails digging into the palms of his hands as he clenched his fists tighter. At that moment, all he wanted to do was punch St. John-Stevens’ lights out for demeaning him. Taking a deep breath, he turned and walked out of the door, trying his best to remain calm.
Hunter stomped back along the corridor to the Cold Case Unit, his head thumping and his heart racing. He needed to let off steam, and when he found the office empty, he slammed the door shut and kicked his waste bin across the room, scattering its contents. For several seconds he looked at the mess, taking steady breaths to calm his anger, and then telling himself he should clean up before Maddie returned, he picked up his dented waste bin, collected the scattered paperwork and returned it to its place beside his desk. It was then he spotted the post-it note stuck to the screen of his computer. It was from Maddie. He pulled it off and read it.
Had to rush off. My mum just rang me. She’s got to my house and found water all over the kitchen floor from the washing machine.
Sorry, I’ll make up my time tomorrow.
Maddie x
As he read it again, Hunter felt his fury subside. Her latest dilemma suddenly put his issues with St. John-Stevens into perspective. He had only been working with Maddie for four days and this was the third calamitous situation she’d had to cope with. He recalled Grace’s comment about Maddie being bright but scatty and shook his head. She wasn’t scatter-brained by any means, but she certainly had a habit of courting disaster. He screwed her note into a ball and binned it. There was no way he was going to ask her to make up her time with her present circumstances. He was confident she would put in the time when it was needed.
Dropping down onto his seat, he let out a sigh as his eyes zeroed in on the Bannister file. His thoughts drifted back to the conversation he’d just had with St. John-Stevens, and within seconds his rage bubbled to the surface again. Fuck him! There was no way he was going to close this case with so many questions unanswered, especially now he had a theory about what had happened and a lead suspect he wanted to talk to.
A plan quickly formed in his head, and although he knew he was risking his career by carrying it out, he knew it was something he needed to do for his own peace of mind. Picking up the case-file, he took the bundle across to the photocopying machine and fed in the paperwork, churning out duplicates. Separating the originals from the copies, he removed the crime scene photographs, reassembled the original file, put a fresh band around the cover and placed it in his out tray with a note attached — for filing, just in case St. John-Stevens came spying. Then, compiling a duplicate file, he added the crime scene photos, put a new cover around it and hid it away in his briefcase, setting the lock and placing it out of sight beneath his desk.
Feeling good about what he had done, Hunter fired up his computer and settled back in his chair. His first job was to find which prison Dylan Wolfe was incarcerated in so he could arrange a visit to question him about the Bannisters’ disappearance. Whilst he knew that in 1991 his former colleague, Barry Newstead, had attempted to interview him about other crimes he may have committed and Dylan had refused to talk, Hunter hoped that the passage of time might now make him more amenable. He rattled off an email to his contact in probation with the request and then returned to his task of tracking down George Evers.
By 3.30 p.m. Hunter had ticked off his list of Georges living in Yorkshire, speaking personally with six and sending off two emails — one to West Yorkshire and one to East Yorkshire — with a request to visit the remaining two. By that time, his concentration was shot, his focus straying, and deleting his history in case St. John-Stevens came prying, he closed down the computer, picked up his briefcase and left.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Travel-weary, Kristine Oxborough stepped off the train from Kings Cross onto Doncaster station platform eagerly seeking the information board for her connecting train to Barnwell. She found the screen by th
e exit stairwell and cursed as she saw she had missed her train by three minutes and the next one wasn’t for another forty-five minutes. When she saw it was the last one for the night, she was relieved the delay on the train from London hadn’t been longer. Now she would at least get home before midnight. It had been a long day. She had been on the go since 5.30 a.m. and she could feel her energy levels almost drained. Dipping into her coat pocket, she took out her phone and rang her husband. He answered on the third ring.
‘Darren, you wouldn’t believe the journey I’ve had. It’s been a nightmare. There was an accident on the tube so I had to catch the eight o’clock and then some pissed up idiots decided to kick off just after Grantham. We’ve been stuck at Retford for the best part of an hour waiting for the Transport Police to take them off. I’ve just missed my connection and the next one gets me in at quarter to twelve.’
‘Do you want picking up?’ Darren asked.
‘No, it’ll mean getting the kids up. I’ll get a taxi. Hopefully I’ll be home at midnight.’ Before hanging up, she added, ‘I need a drink after the day I’ve had.’
Her husband let out a short laugh. ‘I’ll put a bottle of white in the fridge. I’ll wait up.’
Kristine hung up and descended the stairs, taking the underpass to platform 3b to catch her train home.
Platforms 3 and 4 were joined, and Kristine found well over a dozen people milling around, some of them in high spirits from a night out. Two couples in particular, who looked to be in their mid-fifties, were especially loud and lively. She decided to give them a wide berth until the train came and plonked herself down on one of the seats, pulling her coat around her as cold air blasted across the platform, sweeping back her hair.
For the next half hour she scrolled through social media, looking up from time to time as the couples were still performing to the crowd. The hangers-on around them were chipping in with a quip here and there that sparked off more drunken antics from the four, and Kristine just hoped that once they were on the train they would settle down. She was in no mood to party after the day she had just had.
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