Cold Death (D.S.Hunter Kerr)

by Fowler, Michael

  Hunter took out a protective forensic oversuit from the boot of his car and slipped it on. He watched everyone else kit themselves out as he picked up his clipboard from the back seat. He made a bee-line for Duncan Wroe the Scenes of Crime manager, and the Task Force Sergeant; he wanted to double-check their tasks. He noticed that Grace was corralling her team together; she had responsibility for the search of the rear store-room.

  For the next three hours Hunter repeatedly moved from one doorway to another through the building watching the Forensics Team photographing, swabbing walls and furniture, lifting carpets and selectively drop various items into evidence bags, whilst Task Force overturned chairs, sofas and beds and rummaged through and behind units and cupboards. The work was slow and methodical but the exhibits were soon stacking up on the landing ready to be removed for tests.

  As Hunter was about to call time for lunch-break the first positive call went up.

  “Got something Sarge.” It came from one of the Task Force officers working in the kitchen area. He strode excitedly to the door and waited in the opening; he didn’t want to contaminate the search grid. A slightly built, dark haired female greeted him with a broad grin across her face. He saw that the white forensic suit she had on hung loosely in baggy folds around her such was the slimness of her frame.

  “Is this what you’re looking for from your list?” She proffered him an A4 folded document. He slotted his clipboard beneath his arm and took it from her casting his eyes over the DVLA V12 form. As he peeled over the front sheet with his latex gloves he couldn’t help but break into a smile himself; it was a registration document for a white Renault Kango van – on a 53 plate.

  * * * * *

  Hunter loosened his tie away from his collar and undid his top button. He glanced across at Tony Bullars. “Right let’s see if we can wrap this up,” he said pushing open the interview room door.

  The two detectives strolled into an already warm and stuffy room and eased themselves down on seats opposite Mohammed Hassan and his solicitor. Mr Hassan was looking very uncomfortable; a damp patch stained the front of his shirt.

  Another hour of questioning and I’ll have Mr Hassan soaking wet with sweat.

  Hunter pushed his legs under the table and dropped his paperwork and exhibits onto the veneer surface with a resounding slap for effect. He slowly and deliberately unfastened his cuffs and rolled his shirt-sleeves back to reveal sinewy muscled forearms.

  Tony Bullars flicked on the tape recording machine.

  “Mr Hassan you understand why you have been arrested, don’t you?” opened Hunter. “We have explained to you that your daughter’s body has been recovered from Barnwell Lake and that she has been murdered.”

  Mohammed nodded.

  His bearded overweight solicitor began making notes.

  “Mr Hassan. I would appreciate a verbal answer. The tape cannot pick up nods.”

  “Yes, yes,” he stammered. He licked his lips. “But you have got it wrong I haven’t done anything bad to Samia. I haven’t killed her.”

  “We’ll get around to that in a minute.” Hunter steepled his fingers and looked over them. He tried to lock onto Mohammed’s eyes but his were darting around; he was avoiding making eye contact.

  A classic sign of guilt.

  “When I was at your place a week ago you told me that Samia had flown to Pakistan to get married to a cousin of yours. Do you remember telling me that?”

  “I can recall saying something like that but I think you misunderstood what I meant.”

  “Why would I misunderstand you?”

  “Because I might not have explained myself.”

  “Would you like to explain yourself now then?”

  “What I should have said is that I guessed Samia had flown to Pakistan to marry my cousin. You see she packed up all her things a couple of months ago and she told me she was going to Pakistan to marry my cousin.”

  Hunter gave a wry smile. He pulled his fingers apart and pushed himself back in his chair. “Well that is very interesting she should say that to you Mr Hassan because we have statements from several people which clearly state that she did not want to go to Pakistan to marry any cousin of yours. In fact those witnesses have said that you were forcing her to go there.”

  “They are lying.”

  “Why should six different people all say the same thing? That you were trying to force her to go to Pakistan, to force her into a marriage with someone she didn’t know.”

  “She probably told them one thing but really meant another. Samia was happy to marry my cousin.”

  “If she was happy to marry your cousin why should she pack some of her things together with a view to taking refuge away from you?”

  “That is a lie.”

  “No it is not Mr Hassan. We have a statement to that effect and we also have the things she packed ready to leave you. We also have a statement from someone who states you went to Sheffield whilst she was staying with friends and you argued with her about going to Pakistan to be married and when she told you she didn’t want to go you slapped her across the face.”

  “They are lying. We rowed because I found out she was living with someone. She was bringing dishonour upon herself.”

  “Because she had a white boyfriend?” Hunter saw Mohammed’s face colour up.

  “No, no, you are trying to put words in my mouth. She was bringing dishonour upon herself because she was sleeping with him before she was married.”

  He wanted to probe him further about the involvement of the two men who had assaulted Doctor Chris Woolfe and who had tried to drag Samia into their car, but at this stage the team had not been able to identify them and he didn’t want to alert Mr Hassan to the fact that they were even aware of this incident for fear his two relatives would go to ground, or even disappear out of the country – if they hadn’t already done so. Anyway he still had something else he wanted to hit him with. “I put it to you Mr Hassan, because Samia had made her mind up not to enter into a forced marriage and to get away from you that you decided to do something about it?”

  “No, no that is not right.”

  “That you were angry with your daughter. That by her refusal to agree to marrying your cousin, you thought she was bringing dishonour to yourself and so you murdered her.”

  “No. You are making me out to be a bad man.”

  The solicitor stopped scribbling and gave a loud throaty cough. “I think my client has fully answered all your questions relating to this terrible act perpetrated against his daughter. If you press him any further you will be in danger of intimidating him.”

  “Oh I wouldn’t want to do that,” Hunter returned sarcastically. He leant forward pushing his arms flat across the interview table and interlaced his fingers. He fixed Mohammed with a glare.

  Mr. Hassan stiffened.

  “Okay then Mr Hassan, seeing as everyone is lying against you and your solicitor is unhappy with my line of questioning about you being involved in the brutal murder of your daughter.”

  “Detective Sergeant Kerr, that is out of order” interjected the solicitor.

  Hunter shrugged his shoulders and returned a look of innocence towards the solicitor. “I apologise if you find my questioning offensive, but my job is to discover the truth in this matter and all your client has given me are answers which are evasive. I don’t want to get into a cat fight here on such an important issue so I’ll move on – okay?” He paused. “Mr Hassan this morning when we searched your flat - .”

  “You had no right to do that,” Mohammed interrupted.

  Hunter raised his clenched hands a fraction then dropped them back down with a thump.

  Both Mohammed and the solicitor jumped.

  “Sorry about that,” Hunter exclaimed, unlocking his fingers. “Now where was I before I was so rudely interrupted? Oh yes, this morning when we searched your flat – with a warrant,” he added in an exaggerated tone, “we found this at the back of one your kitchen drawers.” He slid out
a clear plastic exhibit bag, which contained the registration document for the white Renault Kango van. “I am showing Mr Hassan exhibit RA One.” He slid the document into the centre of the table. “This VR Twelve relates to a white Ranault Kango van registered in two-thousand-and-three. Is this yours Mr Hassan?”

  He watched Mohammed blush. A droplet of sweat ran down the side of his face.

  “It was mine. I used the van for collecting stock from the warehouse.”

  “Where is it now? It’s not at your premises or parked nearby.”

  Mohammed Hassan’s gaze galloped up to the ceiling.

  “Mr Hassan, can you give me an answer?”

  “It, it,” he stammered, “it has been stolen.”

  “And when was it stolen?”

  “I – I can’t remember exactly,” he paused. “I think it was taken a couple of months ago.”

  “Did you report the theft to the police?”

  “No.”

  “And why didn’t you report the theft of your vehicle Mr Hassan?”

  “Because I didn’t think it was worth it.”

  “You didn’t think it was worth it?” Hunter returned dryly.

  “Well it wasn’t worth that much.”

  “Detective Sergeant Kerr,” interjected the solicitor again. He rested his pen on his notepad and stroked the line of his beard to its point. “Is there some significance to this line of questioning or are you on some fishing expedition?”

  “No I am not on some fishing expedition. There is something I am working towards.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “Mr Hassan – your client – has so far indicated that everyone is lying against him and also there is a big coincidence here that I am struggling with”

  “A coincidence?”

  “Yes a coincidence that your client owns a white two-thousand-and-three plate Renault Kango van and a similar one was seen in suspicious circumstances at Barnwell Country Park shortly after we think Samia’s body was dumped in the lake.”

  “You say shortly after you think Samia’s body was dumped.”

  Hunter wished he had chosen his words more carefully.

  “I gather by that comment you do not know for certain that was what exactly happened.”

  Hunter knew the solicitor had the advantage.

  “These might be coincidences Sergeant Kerr, I’ll grant you that, but as you well know coincidences do not make for a case. Now unless you have any pertinent questions for my client, I suggest we finish things here...that is unless you have something more concrete?”

  At that moment Hunter knew the solicitor had the upper hand. He realised it would be futile to carry on unless he wanted to reveal the information about the two men seen dumping Samia’s body and whom the team strongly felt were related to the Hassans. Hunter pushed himself back in his chair and pasted on a false smile. “Mr Hassan I am going to bring this interview to a close. We have a number of further enquiries to make especially to track down your Renault van which has been so conveniently stolen, but I’m sure that when we will find it there will be some further questions for you.”

  Hunter picked up his papers and the exhibit bag and scraped back his chair. Maintaining his false smile he nodded to Tony Bullars to turn off the recording machine and then he cast Mohammed Hassan a threatening look. “In the words of The Canadian Mounted Police – we always get our man.” Then before the solicitor even had the chance to challenge he spun around and strode purposefully out of the interview room.

  Closing the door behind him Hunter kept his hand firmly gripped around the handle; as if he was squeezing the very life out of it. In the corridor he turned to Tony. “Fuck, fuck, bastarding fuck.” He muttered through gritted teeth.

  Tony smirked. “I gather by that outburst Hunter, that one is a tad fractious and frustrated. You could always resort to torturing him for a confession.”

  His colleague’s words lightened Hunter’s mood and his mouthed creased into a smile. “Now, now Bully, you know that’s not my style.” He winked and let go of the door handle. “That smug solicitor may have won that battle but he hasn’t won the war.”

  * * * * *

  Hunter knew the minute he walked into the incident room that there would be an air of expectancy waiting. Half a dozen faces of the murder squad including Grace and Mike Sampson’s all stared in his direction. He raised his hands in a surrender pose. “Sorry guys I failed. No cough, no job. It’s back to the grindstone I’m afraid.”

  Watching the detective’s part to continue their tasks he beckoned to Grace. Flopping down in his chair opposite her he said, “You have any joy with Mrs Hassan?”

  Grace shook her head.

  Hunter dropped his shoulders and sighed. “What a bummer.” He began picking at his nails as he recounted the interview to his partner. “And I’m afraid SOCO can’t help us either,” he added, “I rang Duncan Wroe ten minutes ago and he says the Hassans place is definitely not the attack site.”

  “Me and Mike haven’t made any progress either,” exclaimed Grace picking up where Hunter had finished. “We couldn’t get any momentum going with her. Every time we asked a probing question she’d say she couldn’t understand what we were saying. Going through an interpreter as well as a solicitor was bloody awful.” She tried to put on a brave face. “Do you know I even tried the motherly daughter approach to empathise with her. You know, tell her what I’d do if it was my daughter and I thought my husband was responsible, but she just sat there stony-faced. The woman is a real heartless bitch. I’ll tell you what though I’ll be ready for her next time.”

  Hunter nodded and examined the cuticles of his nails he had been picking. He glanced up at Grace again. “The one solid thing from this though is that it reinforces my belief that these two are guilty of some involvement in their daughter’s death. Not one of them has shown any sorrow or remorse.” Leaning forward he continued, “Unfortunately a jury won’t convict them for that. I hate to say this but we’re going to have to release them on bail.” He spread his hands flat over his blotter and pushed himself up off his desk. “Come on, no time for dwelling on our misfortunes. We owe this to Samia if nothing else. We’ve still got to find the white van. If that was used to dump Samia’s body – and my guess from Mohammed’s reaction, and comments, that it was – then it should have some forensics.” Hunter headed back towards the doors. “And we’ll also seize Mohammed’s and Jilani’s mobiles before they leave. With a bit of luck once the techies sprinkle their magic dust over them it might give us the two names of the faces from the e-fits.”

  - ooOoo –

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  DAY TWENTY FOUR: 16th September.

  Barnwell:

  “I’m glad you accepted my invite,” Michael Robshaw said on a soft note and watched for a reaction as he gazed into Dawn Leggate’s hazel eyes. He noted that tonight their colour was accentuated by the application of a thin line of brown eyeliner to her bottom lashes.

  He had managed to get a table at The Stables restaurant; telephoning that morning immediately after Dawn had accepted his invitation to dine. He had booked one of the tables where there was the view into the old cobbled courtyard.

  As he held her gaze Michael also registered the colour of her upper eyelids as well; a dusting of two tones of brown powder to the eyelids; not too dark, not too light, and her face had a thin layering of tan foundation. He couldn’t help but think how that little bit of make-up had enhanced the prettiness of her features; she hadn’t worn any make up on her first visit to his office four days ago.

  “I’m glad you invited me.” She pulled away from his gaze and lifted her wine glass. She took a sip of her chilled Pino Grigio. “You know what it’s like staying in a motel. No matter how nice they are you can’t beat your own home. It’s nice to have a friendly face to talk to.”

  At that moment, for no reason, a feeling of embarrassment welled up inside him. He feared that he had stared a little too long into her eyes. He dragged
back his gaze, took a swig of his beer and said, “I thought you were down here with your DS?”

  “He’s gone back to Stirling to brief the team. Now that it looks as though Billy Wallace and Rab Geddes are down here, they’ve assigned me six officers to see if we can track the pair down. He’ll be back down tomorrow with the team.”

  “Sorry I can only supply one officer to you, but as you know we’re up to our necks with our own murder. The person you’ve

  got though is local and a good detective to boot.”

  “Will they report back to DS Kerr?”

  “No the officer is from our Intelligence Unit. I’ve briefed him and told him the importance that he only discusses things with your team for the moment.”

  “Good. I’ll keep you up to date with everything. By the way do you think I got away with it the other day when Kerr asked me all those questions?”

  “Not one bit. Hunter doesn’t miss a trick. He knows you’re hiding something just like he knows his old man is holding back.” He set down his pint. “Anyway why hasn’t Jock said something to him yet, especially after this latest incident – the severed fingers left as a warning?”

  “When he came up and gave us the background to all this he said he’d like to tell his son himself and in his own time. He said he had a special relationship with him and wasn’t quite sure how to break it to him just yet. He wasn’t sure how he was going to react. I think he’s hoping we can get these guys and that will be the end of it all - but I’m afraid it will only be the beginning – they’ll want their day in court and the media circus are going to love this story. And that’s if we get to them before they get to Jock. Billy and Rab are real nasty pieces of work – pure evil. I’ve already told you how they tortured those retired detectives before they killed them. I offered to move him to somewhere safe but he said no. So I’m juggling four of the team with obs on his house and his gym. It’s not a perfect situation with those resources but we’ll try and cover as best we can and hopefully catch them. One thing is for sure, Jock is going to need as much support as possible and the sooner he tells his son the better.” She set down her glass and gently stroked her fingers through her mane of auburn rinsed ginger hair.