Cold Death (D.S.Hunter Kerr)

by Fowler, Michael

  All eyes in the room watched Samia travel the escalator to the first floor of Marks and Spencer’s, stride through the aisles and leave through the exit doors. At one stage it looked as though she was heading for the ramp to the train station, but then changed direction towards the car park and she also appeared to be continuously glancing behind her.

  “At this stage, like you, I was wondering why she was looking around as much as she was so I pulled up footage from other cameras and I found this.” He clicked the remote again, changing the image. The shots were back inside Marks and Spencer.

  The picture zoomed in and a grainy image of an Asian male, mid to late twenties, dressed in white t-shirt and jeans, came into focus. He was dodging from one rack of clothing to another clearly acting suspiciously.

  “As I pan the shot out you can now see that this guy is following Samia and I’m guessing because of her reaction she has sussed this. Okay I’ll play it out a bit more.”

  The picture juddered for a split-second and then the drama was back on. Samia was picking up her pace slipping between parked cars. In the background, visible but out of focus, the Asian man took something out of his pocket and put it to his ear.

  “He’s on his mobile.”

  The team watched Samia taking a final look in the direction of the Asian man before dashing into one of the glass-encased stairwells, which gave access to the ground floor car park.

  “And finally this,” exclaimed Barry. The image changed again to a low-lit underground car park. The view was wider and longer, taking in a considerable amount of the car park, but the action being played out was clearly unmistakeable. Samia sprinted out of the stairwell like a chased rabbit, looking back over her shoulder. From out of nowhere, in fact a blur at first to the right of the screen, another Asian man, taller and much stockier than the first, steamed into her as if she was on a rugby field, bowling her over onto the concrete floor. He was on top of her in a split-second, straddling her prostrate body, one hand covering her mouth to prevent her crying out and the other in a clenched fist pummelling her upper torso. Seconds later the man who had been initially following her emerged from the stairwell at considerable pace, slipped on a wet patch at the bottom of the stairs, caught himself, re-balanced, and joined in the attack. It was all over in thirty seconds. Samia’s body quickly slumped under the onslaught. The stocky man pushed himself off her and then sprinted away out of camera view, whilst the first Asian man stood over her looking around, but there was no one else in sight. Less than a minute later a white van entered the picture and pulled directly across Samia blocking the cameras view. Barry gazed over the room. He could see that all eyes were fixed; the detectives seemed unable to pull themselves away from the scenes unfolding before them. He turned back to the screen in time to see the two Asian men bundling Samia’s limp figure towards the rear of the van. As if she was a rag doll they slung her into the back. The doors were slammed shut, both men jumped into the front of the van and then it was tearing away.

  “All that took less than three minutes,” Barry told them. “The last footage I have is this.” He ran the picture. It was a short snippet of the white van heading towards the exit of the ground floor car park, at the point before it entered the major road system around the Meadowhall Centre. Barry freeze-framed the close-up image, which was obviously below the security camera. Clearly visible were the faces of the two Asian men who had attacked and abducted Samia.

  The eyes of the murder squad darted between the e-fit images on the incident board and the TV screen – there was no doubting that the facial features were an exact likeness. Just as important was the index number on the front number plate of the van – it was the same registration as that on the VR 12 vehicle document which had been recovered from the Hassans.

  - ooOoo -

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  DAY TWENTY EIGHT: 20th September.

  Barnwell:

  Clicking the remote ‘stop’ button Hunter stood transfixed beside the large TV monitor at the front of the incident room; it had not yet been removed from the department. It had been the third time he had watched the attack and abduction of Samia.

  He shook his head as the later, violent images played out again inside his head. He couldn’t help but cringe as he thought about the sheer brutality, which had been meted out to her. Samia was such a slight young woman. She’d not resisted or put up a fight and yet those two men had beaten her mercilessly and tossed her into the back of the van like she had been a sack of rubbish. He also reflected upon what Grace had told him from her attendance at Samia’s post mortem; of the catalogue of injuries inflicted upon her and the violation she had suffered prior to her death.

  What he’d like to do to those two bastards.

  As he shook himself out of his reverie he found himself trying to squeeze the very life out of the plastic TV remote. He found himself flushing as he glanced around, hoping no one had noticed as he set it back down on the trolley.

  Hunter made his way back to his desk, dropped down onto his chair and began to immerse himself in the paperwork which had accumulated over the past couple of days; the majority of it was written off ‘actions’ or reports as a result of his team’s footwork and foraging. As he pored over their content he recounted what they had learned to date.

  The MIT teams had not eased up since Barry had discovered the CCTV footage; the investigation was now at the manhunt stage. The blown up footage of the two Asian men had been given to the Intelligence Unit and they had circulated it throughout the South Yorkshire Districts as well as neighbouring police forces. On the back burner was a visit to the Crimewatch studios, but they wanted to exhaust their own enquiries first. The pictures were so good that everyone was confident it wouldn’t be long before they were caught.

  Simultaneous checks were being carried out at scrap dealers and car dismantlers for the white Renault van. It hadn’t been found dumped and burnt out after all this time, and therefore experience from other murder enquiries told them that if it wasn’t still secreted away somewhere, these were the usual disposal places for such evidence.

  Also, now that they had the fixed time and date parameters of the attack and kidnapping of Samia the technicians at force headquarters had been able to make a quick examination of the SIM card memory and mapping hardware inside Mohammed Hassan’s seized mobile. There the ‘wizards’ had got a crucial breakthrough. From the downloaded data they had discovered activity on his phone within minutes of his daughter’s abduction and traced a name and phone number. On Mohammed’s database they had the name Ari registered in his contact details. They had also confirmed that the same number had been dialled persistently during a number of days following Samia’s kidnapping, with the last call recorded at ten-thirty-three pm on Friday the first of August. Since then there had been no activity to this number and the technicians were reporting that the line was now dead; the phone switched off - but more than likely dumped, especially since the raid at the Hassans.

  Hunter recalled what Kerri Ann Bairstow had told them about seeing a white van driving away from the country park either a Friday or Saturday. He had no doubt in his mind that this was the date when they had dumped Samia’s body into the lake, and that meant she had been held captive for almost five days.

  He felt the hairs at the back of his neck prickle; the post mortem report had shown that she had clearly been raped and butchered. He couldn’t imagine psychologically what she must have gone through during all that time. Her suffering must have been off the Richter scale he thought to himself.

  Hunter continued picking over the reports. He knew from enquiries that the mobile number which Mohammed had contacted was a ‘pay and go’ phone bought in Sheffield with cash, and the details of the purchaser entered on the system were false. Nevertheless from discussions during briefings the murder squad were confident Ari was the real name Mohammed had entered into his contacts register.

  Together with the photographs from the CCTV footage Hunter knew this
was as good as they were going to get.

  “Hunter didn’t you hear what I said?”

  Grace calling out his name broke his concentration. He looked up from his paperwork and caught her glaring at him. She was holding the handset of the phone away from face pointing at the receiver.

  “Sorry Grace I was elsewhere.”

  “Yeah I could see,” she replied. “I just said they’ve found the white van.” There was a high pitched note of elation in her voice. “It’s Communications on the phone. Uniform have found it at a car dismantler’s in Rotherham. A low loader is on its way to pick it up and SOCO are heading out there.”

  Hunter snapped the top back onto his pen. “Then why on earth are you dilly-dallying about Grace. Get your butt in gear girl - we haven’t got all day.” he cried jubilantly.

  * * * * *

  Later that afternoon Hunter drove the unmarked CID car into the force’s forensic examination facility and swung it into an empty parking slot. Excitedly he jumped out, slamming the car door behind, not bothering to lock it and at a quick pace made for the drying room. Grace jumped out of the passenger seat and half-skipping followed in his wake.

  Duncan Wroe, dressed in a blue all-in-one, was edging backwards out of the rear of the white Renault.

  Giving it a quick once over Hunter thought it looked in remarkably good condition to say it had been languishing in a car dismantler’s for several weeks, though it was missing its rear number plate.

  Hunter stopped at the door and shouted to Duncan.

  He turned and acknowledged them with a wave, a small fluorescent light in one hand and a bottle of Luminol blood reagent spray in the other. He sauntered towards them.

  “Hi Hunter, Grace. Wondered how long it would be before you got here.” He set the spray down on a table.

  “We wanted to give you enough time to work your magic on it Duncan,” Hunter replied.

  Duncan smiled and mussed his fingers through his tousled lanks of fair hair. “Too early for miracles just yet I’m afraid, though I have made a start on it.” He picked the Luminol spray back up. “Come on, slip on some overshoes and I’ll show you what I’ve got so far.”

  He peeled away leaving Hunter and Grace to fit on the blue latex shoe coverings, kept in a dispenser by the entrance door. Duncan still continued talking as he parted from them and Hunter found himself hobbling after him, trying to fit on one shoe protector whilst at the same time hanging onto what the SOCO manager was saying.

  “I’ve only done a preliminary examination you understand. The van’s been out in the open for months and will need at least a couple of days in the drying room before we can bottom it. However I have made a start.” Duncan stopped by the open rear doors, resting against one as Hunter and Grace caught up.

  “Is it the right van?” questioned Hunter, finally snapping both the forensic overshoes in place and pointing at the absence of the rear number plate.

  “Absolutely. The engine and chassis number are a match. This is definitely the van belonging to Mr Hassan.”

  “And what have you got so far Duncan?” asked Grace.

  “Well I have found traces of blood – just small amounts. I’ve given it the once over with the Luminol and it shows up under the fluorescent. Whose it is at the moment I won’t be able to say but my guess is Samia’s. Her throat was cut as I recall and I would think despite the fact she was bundled up in the carpet some will have seeped out. I’ll swab it and send it to the lab.”

  “Anything else?”

  “The impossible I can do, miracles take a little longer Hunter. Once it’s thoroughly dried out I’ll be checking it out for fibres and DNA. I’ve got the samples from the carpet she was wrapped up in and so I’ll be able to examine them under the lighting equipment and get the frequency and wavelength of the fibres to see if there is a match – to confirm if this was the vehicle she was carried away in before she was dumped in the lake.”

  Hunter returned a thank you smile. “All very technical for me Duncan but I have faith in you.”

  “In layman’s terms it’s a bit like the fluorescent lights in a nightclub picking out white clothing.”

  Hunter and Grace nodded understandingly.

  “I’ll also be checking for soil samples in the wheel arches and on the wheels and see if I can marry them to the samples I’ve taken from the car park at the country park. Lastly we’ll swab the cabin’s interior and see if there is a DNA composite for the driver and passenger. With a bit of luck in a day or two I should have all the answers.”

  * * * * *

  Hunter found Barry Newstead bending over his desk as he pushed through the office doors. Grace was only a few strides behind.

  “Caught you!” Hunter said. “Snooping through the bosses things whilst he’s away?”

  “It would take a real detective to ever catch me doing that,” Barry returned craning his neck back over his shoulder. “I thought you’d disappeared for the day I’m just leaving you a note before I knock off.” He finished scribing on an A5 pad, then tore off the top sheet and spun around to hand it to Hunter. “A couple of things I wanted to leave for you before tomorrow morning’s briefing.”

  “What’s that Barry?”

  “Firstly we might have identified Samia’s cousins – the two men from the Meadowhall CCTV footage. I’ve been chasing up the Intelligence Units throughout the Force and Sheffield think they have a positive ID on the pair. It looks as though they’re known to Drug Squad, so I’m just waiting on final confirmation of that. It looks promising.”

  “Great stuff. And the second thing?”

  “Remember we set up a trace search of the part index number of the Volkswagon Golf which that prostitute Kerri-Ann Bairstow gave us belonging to one of her punters?”

  Hunter pursed his lips. “Yes?” he retorted.

  “Yep. Well you’re going to love this. Guess who it comes back to? You’ve already interviewed him.”

  Hunter shook his head. “Surprise me.”

  “Mr Chistopher Woolfe. An address in Sheffield,”

  Hunter’s eyes widened. He locked on to Grace who had the same surprised look.

  “Told you. You’d love it.”

  Hunter brushed past Barry and snatched up the phone, punched in a number and waited for a response. His feet were tapping ten-to-the-dozen. After a brief conversation he slammed the handset back onto its cradle and turned to Grace. “Have you got anything pressing this evening?” he enquired, searching her face.

  “Nothing that can’t wait. I’ll just make a quick call to Dave to sort out the girls and then I’m with you.”

  Hunter patted Barry on the shoulder. “Cheers for this. Now I’ve got some arse to kick.”

  * * * * *

  Hunter listened as the footfalls padded towards him. He took his eyes off the car park for a few seconds whilst he checked his watch; he and Grace had been waiting in the entranceway to the hospital generator plant room less than half an hour.

  Whilst they had been there the last light of dusk had faded into early evening. The car park security lighting had activated giving everything a blue white tinge.

  Hunter narrowed his eyes as he focussed on the shadowy outline of the man passing across his vision only a few yards away. He recognised him from their previous visit to Barnwell General Infirmary.

  “Good evening Dr Woolfe,” Hunter greeted him, stepping out of the shadow of the doorway. Grace slipped in beside him.

  Hunter saw the doctor physically jump, slapping a hand across his chest, covering his heart.

  “Christ you made me jump!” Chris Woolfe returned with a startled look on his face.

  “Good.”

  The doctor returned a perplexed look.

  Hunter took a few determined steps towards him and then stopped inches from his face. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t haul you down to the station right now for perverting the course of justice!”

  Even in the low-light cast from the glow of the overhead security light
ing Hunter could make out that Chris Woolfe had coloured up.

  “I – I,” he spluttered.

  “Why after contacting us and giving us all that information about Samia’s cousins assaulting you and threatening you, didn’t you tell us that on the evening of Friday the first of August you recognised them leaving the country park in their white van?”

  The Doctor dropped his head onto his chest.

  “You could have saved us a lot of time - do you not realise that? Instead you gave us a storyline half pointing us in their direction. Is it because you were with a prostitute that night?”

  He raised his head and nodded. “I’m close to finishing my time as a junior Doctor. If the hospital finds out about this I’ll not get a post. Believe me I didn’t want to obstruct your investigation I thought if I gave you enough to lead you to Samia’s cousins and help catch them this wouldn’t come out.”

  “Well it’s backfired hasn’t it? Do you know we’ve wasted time tracking down the owner of a VW Golf for weeks as a potential witness and all this time it was you. Now I’d be very careful how I’d answer this next question. Did you see the two men dump Samia’s body in the lake?”

  The doctor shook his head vigorously. “Christ no! I didn’t spot them until they’d cut us up in the car park. When I saw who was in the van I thought they were after me again. You know because of my past fling with Samia. I thought they’d followed me there and I was going to get another hiding. When they just drove away I couldn’t fathom it out. Then of course when I saw it all on the news I put two-and-two together and realised what I had seen.” He paused and dropped his gaze again. “I’m sorry. If it hadn’t been for the prostitute I would have told you all this.”

  “You might be able to save some face here Doc. Can you definitely say you recognise the two people in the white van as Samia’s cousins who previously beat you up?”