Black & Blue: Where it all began…… (D.S Hunter Kerr)

by Michael Fowler

  “Where is this all going to Jud?”

  “I’m just getting to that.” He winced. “Well tonight he was having his usual fly round the house and I’d forgotten I’d left the window open. He got out didn’t he! Flew straight out, quick as a flash and when I goes out after him, there he was – up on this roof. He’d be ragged to death by the other birds in the morning so I climbed up to rescue him and just as I reached to get him he flew off again. I over-balanced didn’t I, and here I am crippled for the sake of my dear mum’s budgie.”

  Roger’s mouth creased into a smirk. “I’ll give you your due Jud, you can certainly spin them.”

  “It’s the God’s honest truth Mr Mills. As God is my judge.”

  “Well with a bit of luck he might sentence you better than the other judge did the last time.”

  With that the man settled back his head and issued a moan. A deep bellied one. He only stopped when an ambulance appeared on scene.

  Ten minutes later, despite the paramedics carrying a thorough head, neck and spinal check, and finding no major injuries, the man insisted that he needed to go to hospital and so he was stretchered into the back of the ambulance.

  As it drove away Hunter turned to his tutor. “You obviously knew each other well. Who’s he?”

  “That, young Kerr, is George Arthur Hudson. Jud Hudson to us. He is one elusive character who you will come up against on a regular basis if you stick around. Jud has convictions for most things and he’s been in and out of the nick more times than I’ve had hot suppers. Believe me if it’s not nailed down Jud will nick it.”

  “So are we going to search for evidence then?”

  “Evidence?”

  “Yeah. See if he’s been trying to rip the lead off the roof.”

  Roger looked up the side of the outbuilding. “And you’re willing to risk your neck going up there to search are you?”

  Hunter met his tutor’s gaze and pursed his lips.

  Roger shook his head. “I think it would be fair to say some summary justice has been dished out tonight, let’s leave it at that. There will always be another time for Jud.”

  - ooOoo –

  CHAPTER THREE

  Roger Mills held open the door to the rear station yard and as Hunter slipped past he handed him a piece of paper containing a scribbled down address.

  “An old man’s not been seen for at least a week and neighbours are concerned,” he said stabbing a finger at the note. “This could be your first sudden death.”

  Hunter glanced at the address and as he made his way to the beat car his thoughts went into a spin. He’d never seen a dead body before, especially one which might have been dead for some time and his brain was beginning to conjure up awful images. A cold shiver shot down his spine as he dropped into the passenger seat.

  Fifteen minutes later the two officers were looking up and down the frontage of 32 Mexbrorough Row. It was an end terraced house and it had all the looks of years of neglect. Green paint peeled from the windows and doors, and stained and faded white nets failed to hide the grimy windows.

  Roger twisted the front door handle.

  “We’ve already tried that love.” A busty middle aged woman appeared at their side. “Back and front – locked, both of them.”

  “Are you the person who rung us up?” asked Roger.

  She nodded, folding her arms, supporting her large bust. “I haven’t seen him for the best part of a week. Haven’t even heard him – I live next door.”

  “Is that unusual?”

  “With Harry it is. He’s a bit of a drinker you know, and he goes on benders from time to time, so it can be a few days before I see him. But it’s never been as long as this without a peep from him.”

  Roger switched his gaze to meet Hunter’s. He flicked his head. “Come on then let’s see if we can find a way in.

  The rear gate was locked and they had to scramble over a six foot wall to get into the back yard. That was overgrown with weeds poking through hundreds of cracks in the concrete. A decrepit faux leather settee rested against an outhouse. A broken television lay next to it. Roger made for the back door. Turning the handle he slammed himself against it. It hardly moved. He tried again and failed to shift it away from its frame.

  “That doors like Fort Knox,” he said rubbing his shoulder. “There’s nothing else for it Hunter, we’ll have to break a window and you’ll have to climb in and open it.”

  Hunter pointed at himself and expressed concern.

  Roger met his gaze. “You’re the student.”

  Wrenching out his hasp, he ratcheted it out to its full length and sharply tapped the corner of the rear window. Shards of glass exploded everywhere.

  Knocking and scraping out the stubborn pieces from the wooden casement Hunter carefully negotiated the hole he had made and began his climb through the window. He put out a hand to support himself, cursing in disgust as his hand slipped over a greasy work surface as he dropped inside the kitchen. A rancid smell immediately assaulted his nostrils and he cringed. Wiping his slimed hand on a curtain he scanned the dim room. The place was filthy. Dirty crockery covered the table and the floor was sticky and stained. He went to the door which he could see was bolted in several places. It was no wonder Roger couldn’t move it, he thought. He pulled them back and tried the handle but it was still locked. He scoured the work surfaces and the table for a key but there wasn’t one.

  He shouted back his findings to Roger.

  “In that case have a look round. See if you can see anything of the bloke and if you need any help I’ll come in the same way.”

  “Thanks,” muttered Hunter low in his breath and turned into the house.

  He entered the front room cautiously. That was also dim but he could immediately see it was unoccupied. He made for the staircase and as he lifted his face the stench from above hit him. It was a cloying, mainly tepid urine smell, but it was strong and his stomach leaped to his throat. Gripping his nose and partially covering his mouth with one hand he climbed the stairs carefully. On the landing he paused. The overwhelming reek was coming from the bedroom to his right which overlooked the front of the house. He took a deep breath and pushed the door inwards.

  A patch of light streamed through a gap in heavy velvet curtains picking out the edges of objects within the sparsely furnished room. Against one wall was a carved wooden bed covered in an array of stained bedding. As he edged closer he could feel his heart pounding against his chest. A couple of feet from the bed he spotted a head poking out of the sheets, resting on a pillow. It was an emaciated face with dark rimmed sunken closed eyes. Several flies were hopping around the waxen flesh. He had never seen anything like it and the gut-wrenching smell was shocking. Pulling away his gaze he spied a key on the bedside table. Snatching it up quickly he took another quick look at the corpse and scampered back downstairs to let in Roger.

  * * * * *

  Letting the mortuary door gently close behind him, Hunter Kerr stared into space, took in a great gulp of fresh air and shuddered. He realised that what he had just experienced would stay with him for the rest of his life. He had been warned what to expect, but his imagination hadn’t prepared him for the real horror, especially when he had seen the scalp and face being peeled down over the glistening white skull. The sight had taken him by surprise and had made him feel light-headed. He’d only stopped his legs buckling beneath him by grasping hold of the metal sink he was standing next to. What had been even worse was the sound of the oscillating saw cutting the cap off the skull.

  And that smell. It was worse than when he had discovered the old man’s body. He pulled up the collar of his jacket and sniffed. It was still there, impregnated into the blue serge. He shuddered again.

  He strolled back to Barnwell Police station, with the images of his first post-mortem, washing around inside his head, convinced he could still smell the stench from the mortuary: Death clinging to him.

  He knew he wouldn’t be able to face breakfast.
r />   * * * * *

  “How did the PM go?”

  At the sound of Roger’s voice Hunter stopped typing his Sudden Death Report and looked up. “Natural causes. The guy died of a heart attack and he had fatal levels of something in his liver caused by his drinking.” He saw Roger nodding.

  Leaning over his shoulder to get a glimpse of the report, Roger said, “Did you manage to track down any family?”

  “Finally I did. A sister. She lives in Rotherham. She last saw him three weeks ago. She told me she didn’t see him as much now because of his drink problem. He’s been an alcoholic for four years now, since he lost his wife. Until then apparently he was fine, then after he lost her he just turned to drink. He got a drink-driving ban three years ago, and his sister tried to get him to go to a rehabilitation clinic two years ago but he refused. After that she stopped visiting him as much. When she last went she said she removed over seventy whiskey bottles from the house and had a row with him.”

  “So the news wouldn’t have come as a shock?”

  “Not at all. In fact she says it’s a blessing really. He knew he was drinking himself to death and told her once that it couldn’t come fast enough.” Hunter glanced down at his report. “Don’t you think that’s sad?”

  His mentor rested a hand on his shoulder. “What did I say about death affecting you? There will be worst cases than this, believe me. You have to dissociate yourself from the person you’re dealing with otherwise you’ll never get the job done. This is what you do now. Deal with it as a job and move on.” He tapped Hunter’s shoulder. “Savvy?”

  Hunter met Roger’s gaze. “Message received and understood.”

  - ooOoo –

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Hunter was adding the final few paragraphs to the evidence in his pocket book when Roger Mills burst into the parade room.

  “Come on Hunter, get your stuff, we’ve got a domestic to go to,” He said and scurried back out again.

  In double-quick time Hunter slung his pocket book into the back of his tray, snatched up his belt containing his hasp and handcuffs and bolted towards the back door. He found his tutor revving the engine of the marked Response Car. Leaping into the front passenger seat, Hunter hadn’t even belted up before the Ford Sierra was tearing out of the rear yard towards the Tree Estate from where several calls had come in.

  Inside ten minutes they were speeding into Woodland Road and seconds later Roger braked sharply before the scene which confronted them: A throng of shouting and excited people were enveloping one of the gardens half-way along the street.

  Roger pulled the car sharply into the side of the road, switched off the whirling blue lights and pushed open his door.

  Hunter followed, fastening his hasp and cuff belt around his waist as he quick-stepped to back up his partner.

  Above the shouts of the bystanders were the screams and cries of a woman, so loud, as they approached at jogging pace, that Hunter was convinced someone was being murdered. Suddenly he could feel the adrenaline starting its rush inside his brain and his stomach turn-turtle.

  As they pushed their way through the midst of spectators they were greeted by shouts of disgust, but no resistance was offered, and as they squeezed past the front row they were confronted by a shaven-headed, middle aged man who was straddling a spread-eagled woman of similar age. The man held a handful of hair, the colour of which was debateable – the blonde parts definitely from a bottle – while the woman thrashed around, beating and scratching at the man’s bare arms. Both were heavily tattooed around the forearms. It was difficult to determine who displayed the most designs.

  “Alice, Jack, pack it in,” shouted Roger moving into the fray, trying his best to grab one set of flying hands.

  A final punch was flung, connecting with the woman’s right eye and she flew back into the overgrown garden. The blow laid her motionless for several seconds giving Roger the space to restrain the man.

  “I’ll kill the unfaithful fucking bitch!” the man shouted as Roger secured a grip of the man’s wrists.

  Hunter bent down to assist the woman who was beginning to come round. In less than a minute he had his hands under her sweaty armpits and was helping her up.

  Roger was man-handling the man through the front door of the house, shouting back over his shoulder, “Everyone back to your homes, performance over.”

  Hunter followed in his partner’s wake, supporting the woman into the hallway. As he kicked shut the door the woman flung herself free and darted claw-like fingers in the direction of the man’s face.

  She screamed, “You bastard!”

  Recovering quickly, Hunter locked his arms around the woman’s waist and wrestled her through a doorway into the lounge. There he could restrain her no longer and found himself tumbling onto the sofa, she falling on top. For a few seconds he wriggled beneath her until finally he squirmed himself free.

  She pushed herself up.

  Hunter latched onto the hateful stare she threw him.

  Adjusting her upper clothing she lashed out, “Don’t you get fresh with me young man, I’m old enough to be your mother.”

  With a look of aghast he exchanged glances with Roger, who was ushering in the shaven-headed man, one hand still firmly clasping the shoulder of his T-shirt.

  A smirk was plastered all over his mentor’s face.

  The woman started finger-wagging – aiming her digit spear-like in the direction of the dishevelled man. “I want him arrested. Look at this eye. You saw what he did. I’ve a hundred witnesses out there. I want him locked up this time.”

  Roger stepped in front, twisting the man around. “Alice, will you calm down just a minute.”

  The woman withdrew, defensively folding her arms. “There’s no need to shout, I’m not bloody deaf.”

  “We have this every time Alice. How many times have I been here and locked your Jack up?” he paused and searched her face. “Must have been at least a dozen times. And what happens every time – you withdraw your complaint. We can’t carry on like this.”

  “Well I’ve really had enough this time. He’s never blacked my eye before. Next time you’ll find me dead. I want him arrested.”

  Throughout Alice’s berating Hunter had been carefully observing her husband. His face had a forlorn look.

  “If I arrest him Alice,” Roger continued, “It’ll mean taking statements and airing all your dirty washing in court.”

  “I don’t care this time. He should be locked up.”

  Roger turned and faced Jack.

  Jack said, “She’s been shagging a mate of mine. Well I thought he was a mate.”

  Roger shrugged his shoulders. He glanced back at Alice. She displayed a brazen look. Returning to his prisoner he said, “Sorry Jack, I can’t appease her. It’s the nick I’m afraid.”

  Jack straightened himself. “You’ll have to handcuff me Mr Mills. I’m not going out in the chuffing streets without them. I’ve got a reputation to keep up.”

  For a few seconds Roger stared at Jack, then he said, “Okay if that’s the way you want it.” He produced his handcuffs and clicked them around the man’s outstretched tattooed wrists. He made a check they weren’t nipping and then took hold of his arm.

  Hunter was about to take hold of Jack’s other arm when he caught a sharp movement at the periphery of his vision. Without warning a wooden bowl flashed past his nose and struck Jack to the side of his head. A faint cry issued from his mouth as his legs buckled and he dropped to the floor with a thud.

  Hunter spun around to meet a delighted looking Alice, rubbing her hands.

  “I don’t want to complain now.” She picked up the TV remote, switched it on and then dropped into an armchair. “And neither will he, because if folk find out how he got injured he’ll be a right bloody laughing stock.” She crossed her legs. “There’s no need to wait while he comes round. He’ll be okay. You can take your cuffs off him now and piss off.”

  Hunter looked at his partner dumbfounded. This
was unlike any scenario he had faced during training school.

  Roger again shrugged his shoulders, then reached down and unlocked the handcuffs.

  Jack was beginning to come round. There was swelling to the side of his face.

  Flicking his head at Hunter, Roger walked back into the hallway. Retreating through the front door he turned back.

  “Before you open your mouth – don’t.” He started down the path. “That was Jack and Alice Paynton. You remember what I said about ‘Jud’ Hudson the other day, well those are two you can bet a pound to pinch of shit you’ll come across again. And they’ve got two young tearaway sons as well. The whole family are a pain in the arse.” He chinned towards the police car. “Come on we’ve got some real work to do.”

  Hunter clanged the metal gate behind them and looked back at the Paynton house, storing it to memory.

  - ooOoo -

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Hunter plink-plonked the keyboard of the word processor using a two finger system that he felt was increasing in speed with each report he tackled. He had spent the last hour and a half working through the Coroner’s report of the sudden death he had recently dealt with.

  “Shall I get a bucket of water, that keyboard’ll catch fire if you go any quicker.”

  Hunter turned his head to see PC Andy Sharp leaning against a filing cabinet. He smiled back. “You know what they say about sarcasm.”

  He pushed himself upright. “How long you gonna be?”

  Hunter returned a curious look. “A couple of minutes. I’ve nearly finished. Why?”