He had bumped into Barry four years later, as a young twenty-two year-old detective, on the very first day of his being appointed to District Headquarters CID; fourteen years ago. Barry had been at the peak of his career and had taken him under his wing, showing him all the tricks of the trade. They had formed a formidable team until his promotion to Detective Sergeant eight years ago.
“Not a damn thing so far,” Barry replied without taking his eyes off the screen. “I’ve been here looking at this lot for the best part of a day and a half and I’m getting square eyes. The most exciting moment was watching a female mallard and her seven chicks waddle across the front of reception. This is almost as boring as going through all the missing from home files from the last job.”
Despite Barry’s bemoaning the tediousness of the task Hunter knew it would be done thoroughly. He edged his seat closer. “Glad I’ve caught up with you. Sorry to have put you on the spot with those enquiries, but I was stuck up in North Yorks and there was only Grace and you I could trust with something so sensitive, and Grace was in charge of this murder.”
“No problem, that’s what buddies are for.”
“Anything new cropped up?”
Barry pressed the pause button on the system and turned to face Hunter. He smoothed a thumb and forefinger across his dark bushy moustache and then stroked his chin. “I followed up a few calls late yesterday for you but there’s nothing on the grapevine at all about what happened. I’ve only given my snouts half a story, they’ve no idea it’s your parents, just told them it’s a hit-and-run near the east coast. That way if someone does come back with something I’ll know if they’re telling me the truth.”
Hunter patted Barry’s shoulder. “Cheers for this – I owe you one.”
“No problem Hunter. You getting me this job has more than paid a debt. I was getting bored stiff at home. It’s great to be back in the thick of it especially after being thrown on the scrapheap.”
Hunter knew what that meant. He recalled how Barry had been forced to retire six years ago by a newly promoted Chief Inspector who had specifically targeted him because of his unorthodox methods. He remembered how on several occasions the man had threatened to discipline Barry for ‘bringing the force into disrepute,’ before finally side-lining him to a desk job, which he knew would hurt him the most. He could recollect Barry’s virtual last words to him whilst they were out celebrating a result from a job one night. “I’m going to call it a day before I smack that bastard,” he’d said to him with a slur. It had been the first time he had ever seen Barry so morose. Then six weeks ago his ex-buddy had come back into his life again. Barry had rung him right out of the blue with vital information on the serial-killer case, which they had just put to bed, and Hunter had managed to persuade the boss to take him on as a civilian investigator at a time when their backs were against the wall and the team needed more experienced staff.
“Fancy doing some night-fishing?”
Hunter caught the smile creeping across Barry’s mouth – he had grasped what Hunter was alluding to. Between them they had used this term so many times over the years. It had been their coded phrase whenever one of them had decided to engage in underhand activities and required back up.
“I’ve nothing much else on - what do you have in mind?” Barry returned in a low voice.
* * * * *
The Masons Arms on Barnwell High Street was a drab Victorian pub that had not changed in character for years. It was a place with a reputation. Local decent folk and anyone with an ounce of sense gave it a wide berth. Such was the clientele who frequented it that a simple brawl always turned into a wild-west saloon fight.
It was the first time Hunter had ever entered the pub, and under normal circumstances would have avoided the place, but tonight he was on a mission.
He pushed through the lounge doors with Barry following up behind – watching his back. They were met by an interior that belonged somewhere in the past - dingy, low-lit, and with the smell of stale tobacco hanging heavily in the air. Because of the smoking ban Hunter guessed it was emanating from the pores and clothing of the dozen or so customers who hugged the bar. But then taking one look at them and recognising some of the faces, he wasn’t too sure. He knew that some of the people in here didn’t like to be governed by society’s rules and laws.
There was an instant silence as the small sea of faces ‘clocked them,’ but as he and Barry strode past it appeared that the punters had returned to their drinks and hushed conversation, though he guessed in reality that eyes would be slyly fixed on them right until they left.
Hunter quickly scanned the room and spotted his quarry, now sporting a Mohican style haircut since their last meeting, tucked into a corner, nursing what looked like a half drunk pint of lager.
He and Barry had already snuck-up and pulled up chairs before David Paynton realised they were there.
“Mind if we join you?” Hunter said rhetorically, squatting down on his seat, slotting his legs under the small round table that separated him from his foe. Barry took up a position at the side leaving David Paynton well and truly boxed in.
David’s hazel eyes burned into the pair of them. “What the fuck do you two want?”
“Now that’s not a very nice greeting for two old friends of yours David, is it?” Hunter couldn’t help but notice Paynton’s disfigured nose. It gave him the look of a boxer who had lost more fights than he had won. For a split-second it gave him a pang of self-satisfaction. He knew that had been his handiwork – but it had been well deserved. A month ago David, his brother Terry and his cousin Lee had ambushed him coming out of his father’s gym. Thankfully Barry and his father had been on hand to come to his aid and between them all three of the Paynton clan had been hospitalised.
“How’s your Steven? Heard from him?” asked Hunter.
David’s face took on a keen and menacing look. “You fucking know how he is. You and that bitch are the ones who got him banged up. He’s on the nonce’s wing for his own protection thanks to you.”
“Now, now David don’t get yourself worked up,” interjected Barry. “Steve has only himself to thank for being banged up. He was the one who raped those women and abused those children. He admitted it remember?”
“So you say, so you say.” He pushed his six-foot wiry frame back into the high-backed seat. “Anyway what do you two fuckers want?”
“A little chat that’s all” answered Hunter.
“A little chat my arse.” He leaned forward and took a sip from his pint, never taking his eyes off them. As he set it down he said, “Just piss off and leave me alone.”
“Look David we can do this the easy way or the hard way,” Barry snapped one of his shovel-like hands across David’s knee, then squeezed, digging his fingers into the joint.
David twitched.
“The easy way is we ask you some questions to which you give some honest answers. The hard way is I walk over to that bar, buy a fresh pint of lager, set it down in front of you, drop a tenner on the table and then we walk out of here. I’m sure those at the bar will not be too impressed, especially if they think you’re a grass.” Barry released his grip. “Now which is it to be?”
David pushed away Barry’s hand. “What do you want?” he snapped back.
“That’s better,” said Hunter, “you know it makes sense.” He leaned in towards David Paynton. “First question – what car do you own?”
He saw the puzzled look on his face. Paynton raised his eyebrows seemed to think about the question for a good ten seconds then said, “Mondeo, blue, O five plate, you’ll have it on your computer,”
“Second question; which one of you or your mates owns a silver BMW?”
He returned an even more puzzled look; shook his head. “None of us.”
“Sure about that?”
Paynton swelled his chest. He stroked at uneven tufts of bristle, which peppered his jaw-line. “Sure I’m sure. We’ve never owned a BMW; German crap.”
“Who do you know then that owns a silver BMW?”
“No one. BMs are for pimps.” He swung his gaze back and forth between Hunter and Barry. “Look, where is this going? All these questions about a silver BMW. Was it used in a robbery or something?”
“A hit and run,” Hunter replied. He watched for a reaction; there was none.
“Look I’ll say this once more and only once more. None of us – that’s my family, have ever owned a BMW – never mind a silver one. It’s not our style. If I were going for flashy it would be a Porsche. And as far as being involved in a hit and run I have absolutely no idea what you are on about. When was this? Was it in Barnwell?”
“On the North Yorkshire moors six days ago. Ring any bells?”
“I can’t even remember the last time I was anywhere near the moors.” He paused and began stroking his chin, then blurted out, “Six days ago! Ha! It can’t have been me! I was with our Terry. We had to go to the job centre for an interview - they were going to stop our benefits. A bloody waste of time that was as well.” His face creased into a smile. “Check it if you want?”
“Don’t worry we will,” replied Hunter sharply pushing away his chair. He tried to hide his disappointment.
David Paynton’s look took on an air of confidence. “Now wind your neck in and get off my case.”
Barry pushed a finger within an inch of David’s face. “Watch your mouth. We can still do the dirty on you.”
Paynton stared back defiantly. He picked up his pint and took a long swallow.
Hunter and Barry kicked back their chairs and retreated the way they had come.
Hunter paused outside on the footpath looking along the quiet High Street. It was just turning dusk; an orange glow low on the horizon poked between a bank of grey cloud.
“Think he’s telling the truth?”
“It wouldn’t be hard to check out would it? I hate to say this Hunter - because he’s a Paynton, but I think he is.”
- ooOoo -
CHAPTER SIX
DAY EIGHT: 31st August.
Barnwell:
The sky had been full of leaden grey clouds all day but the rain had held off and all that was left of the northerly weather front was a gentle breeze. Grace and Hunter paused at the lakeside edge of Barnwell Country Park listening to the water lap against the shale. They were watching the surface undulate as a warm evening wind whipped across the murky lake.
Hunter turned his gaze skywards. He watched as tufts of pink cloud scooted quickly across a blue-green sky. The sun was beginning to drop low. He glanced at his watch. 9.10pm. He reflected that the summer was drawing to a close. Another month and autumn would be here.
It had been a day of mixed fortunes so far. Hunter had listened to the briefing earlier that day with a greater degree of enthusiasm. It had been a mixture of bad and good news. He’d learned that although the team had been working flat out for over a week the enquiry appeared to be stalling. None of the detectives were bringing anything new back to briefing. Michael Robshaw, the Detective Superintendent, reiterated that they were still no nearer to identifying who the victim was. He had confirmed that there had been no luck with dental records, fingerprints or DNA and were no nearer to matching the rug she had been found wrapped up in to a crime scene. However he did end the session on a high. He finished by stating that he was excited by a phone call he had received from Professor Lizzie McCormack. He reported that the pathologist’s niece was a forensic medical artist whose skills lay in facial reconstruction and that she had agreed to rebuild the victims face so that a fresh appeal could be made on TV. The detective superintendent ended with an announcement that work to build up the victim’s facial features was going to start within the next few days and should be done in a week.
Hunter had spent the remainder of the day getting to grips with his overdue paperwork. Then he’d caught up with Grace and arranged to stake-out the country park to see if they could track down Tanya. To that end an hour earlier the pair had left their unmarked car near the reception centre, and aided by a park ranger carried out a reconnaissance of the location where the young woman had been frequently spotted.
Now free from their escort and dressed in their outdoor fleeces the pair looked like any other couple who strolled the lakeside of an evening. And thanks to the ranger’s guidance they were able keep themselves in a position at all times where they had a clear view of where the street worker parked up with her clients. It was now a waiting game.
From out of the corner of his eye Hunter looked at his partner, watching as the gentle breeze lifted her tight curls away from her face, revealing the dark summer freckles which peppered her high cheekbones. He reflected on how he’d cracked on more than one occasion how they made her look like a cute little schoolgirl and she’d responded by slapping his arm.
He broke into a grin. Because although he knew that she’d been acutely embarrassed by his comments he knew that at times she had used her pasted on naive schoolgirl look to good advantage. Many was the time he had watched on with amusement as villain upon villain, as well as the odd Alpha male colleague, had been thrown completely off guard by her innocent childlike-look and demeanour.
At times it had been like watching a python hypnotise its prey.
She turned her head slowly to meet his gaze and it snapped him out of his thoughts.
“Grace now we’re out of the office I want to say you’ve made a cracking job of leading your first murder case. You’ve made it so easy for me to pick up. I’ve been conscious about taking it back from you, especially as you’ve put in so much hard work. And you’ve managed to fit in the inquest file as well, that’s no mean feat.” He tried to catch her reaction without making it so obvious he was observing her. He himself had been a similar position so many times as a young detective; putting in all the hours and the enthusiasm only to have it taken away.
“To be honest Hunter I’m glad you did come back when you did. Don’t get me wrong I loved it and the team have been stars but I was feeling the pressure. In fact I’ve not being able to switch off when I’ve got home and at this moment in time I need to.” She broke away her gaze and drifted it out towards the lake. “Anyway did you get done what needed to be done last night? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want.”
“No I don’t mind. I just didn’t want to say anything yesterday. Not that I don’t trust you but I needed to check things out.” He went on to outline the previous night’s event with David Paynton, all the time rotating his eyes between his partner and the spot they had under observation across the lake.
“So you’re no nearer to finding out who ran your mum and dad off the road?” she said as he finished the account.
“No and it’s doing my head in. My dad’s refusing to talk about it and I know he’s hiding something. I thought it might have been that bother we had with the Paynton’s after you and I locked up Steve; you know them trying to get back at me through my dad. But after our chat last night with David I think I need to be looking elsewhere.”
“What about the photos you got of the bald headed guy who you saw your dad arguing with. Has that thrown up anything?”
Hunter shook his head. “Unfortunately they’re not that good. I’ve tried messing about with them on the computer but the light wasn’t that brilliant because it was early morning and also the shots were right at the end of my zoom.” He diverted his gaze down to the waters edge where a line of ripples suddenly broke across its surface. “Anyway enough about my family’s problems, how are you coping?”
“Oh so, so. It’s Dave I feel sorry for. It can’t be easy being married to a copper, especially as this cop’s burdened him with so much just lately. I’ve promised to make it up to him. I’m going to take him away for a long weekend. Paris or something - once this job’s wrapped up.”
“We’re worse than teenage kids aren’t we?”
Their attention was grabbed by an emerging sound of gravel crunching and churning somewhere across the lake, and
after a few seconds of straining their eyes in the noise’s direction a dark blue saloon swung into view and headed towards a screen of laurel bushes. It disappeared, and after waiting to see if it would re-appear further along the track – which it didn’t, the pair swung into action. They kicked into a jog; they already knew from an earlier test that they could be at the location in just under three minutes; more than enough time to catch the woman if she was with a punter.
Two hundred yards from their destination they decreased their pace and took in a few deep breaths. They could make out a front grill and a set of headlights of a car through a gap in the bushes. Crouching low Hunter and Grace took a slight diversion off the public footpath, slipping across to a dirt path which they knew would bring them behind the car. It would give them enough time to get their breaths back.
The blue Rover was rocking from side to side on its suspension as they approached. Hunter and Grace smiled at one another as they moved in at either side from the rear.
Hunter banged on the roof, at the same time he yanked open the driver’s door. “Police” he shouted.
In a simultaneous swoop Grace had the front passenger door open.
Two very surprised faces, a man and a much younger woman both in a state of undress faced them.
“Okay,” Hunter snapped loudly “put it away sir and get out of the car.”
“And you re-arrange yourself young lady and do the same” said
Grace, catching the attention of the fair-haired young girl straddling the man across the front seat. The two detectives turned their heads away but kept a firm grip of the door handles whilst the pair got themselves sorted.
Cold Death (D.S.Hunter Kerr) Page 7