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

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Black & Blue: Where it all began…… (D.S Hunter Kerr) Page 3

by Michael Fowler


  “You’re teamed up with me this afternoon. I thought we’d go out and do some real police work - catch a few villains.”

  “You bet.” Hunter scanned a quick eye over his report, hit the enter key and saved it. Then closing down the system, he scooped up his notes and scraped back his chair. “Give me five minutes to tidy this lot away and then I’ll get my gear.”

  “Okay I’ll be outside in the car.”

  In the rear yard Hunter caught Andy Sharp checking his image in the interior mirror. He smiled to himself as he approached the beat car. With five years’ service Andy was completely different to his tutor – an excitable character with a witty sense of humour. Yet at the same time he was one of the keenest in the group and his pursuance of offenders was infallibly consistent. He had already confided in Hunter that he wanted CID.

  Hunter pulled open the back door and threw his helmet, overcoat and folder onto the rear seat.

  Andy re-set the interior mirror and raked a comb of fingers through his thick mane of fair hair. “All set then?” he enquired and started the car.

  Hunter nodded and jumped into the front.

  With a screech of tyres they sped out of the station yard.

  Andy had pulled into a lay-by on a section of long, winding back road, which led to an intersection of the A1M, so that he and Hunter could compile notes in their pocket books following two hours of stopping and checking cars.

  The mild June evening was giving way to a veil of fine drizzle. It peppered across the windscreen diminishing the view.

  Andy had just flipped on the wipers when a screaming car shot past them, rocking them in the process.

  Hunter flicked forwards his gaze just in time to see the brake lights flash on of a gold Ford Escort Ghia as it disappeared round a sharp bend. He turned sideways and caught the surprised look on Andy’s face.

  “He’s tramming.” Andy snapped shut his pocket book and slung it over his shoulder into the back. “I’m going to give him a pull and see where the fire is.”

  Quickly engaging first gear, Andy stamped on the accelerator and the wheels spun, churning up the rough track, then he whipped the car onto the glistening road, in the direction of the bolting Escort.

  Hunter gripped the sides of his seat, watching on as Andy effortlessly slipped through the gears making ground on the gold car.

  They were soon hitting 75 mph.

  Andy flicked on the blue strobe lights and hit full beam.

  Hunter saw the brake lights on the car ahead become illuminated and realised Andy’s driving had made an effect. The distance between was ever narrowing and the Escort Ghia began indicating left.

  Andy pulled up behind it, switched on his hazards and jumped out, shouting back, “Check it on PNC.”

  Hunter snatched up the radio handset and called in the registration number of the car. Less than a minute later the operator was giving back details of an owner from the nearby village of Old Denaby. It wasn’t recorded as stolen.

  Hunter joined Andy, who was just issuing a rollicking to the driver - a man in his thirties, who was being most apologetic, and passed on the information the operator had given him.

  “Andy said to the driver, “Take this as a warning. This is a sixty mile an hour road, keep it down in future.”

  The dark haired man replied, “Thank you officer, I will. As I say I’ve only just bought the car and the road was just so clear that I opened her up. I hadn’t realised I was going that fast.” He sighed gratefully and turned the ignition. There was no response. He turned the key again – nothing. He exchanged glances with Andy and then Hunter.

  Hunter noted sweat forming on his brow.

  He said, “I think it must be the starter motor jammed.”

  Andy looked at Hunter and threw him a nod. “Come on we’ll give him a push.”

  The pair heaved themselves against the back of the Escort and began to push. They had only travelled a few yards when it roared into life and after a few revs the driver shouted “thank you” and set off towards the motorway.

  Rubbing his hands, Andy turned to Hunter, “That’s our good deed for the day.”

  As they were getting back into the patrol car they picked up on the sound of another speeding car heading towards them.

  “Bloody hell, it’s like Le Man’s this afternoon.” Andy slammed the driver’s door to and took a step into the middle of the road.

  At the appearance of the rocketing car coming out of a bend Andy started waving his hands in the air and then gave the official stop sign.

  The bonnet of the Rover dipped followed by a long screech as tyres skidded across wet tarmac. It juddered and bucked before grinding a halt. The passenger door shot open and a young, skinny man, hurriedly jumped out. He thrust out an arm, aiming it in the direction of the gold Escort, which, by now was just a dot in the distance.

  He shouted, “That car, the Escort, it’s mine. It’s just been nicked.”

  Hunter saw Andy’s jaw drop. He could feel blood rushing into his face. He shook his head and threw himself into the front seat. Andy’s reactions were as quick, and shouting back over his shoulder, to the young man, “Don’t worry we’ll get him,” he gunned the engine.

  Within seconds he was whipping through the gears again, thrashing the engine, soon edging the needle towards eighty.

  It wasn’t long before the dot on the horizon was becoming recognisable as the gold car once again.

  Andy squeezed more from the patrol car.

  Hunter was calling in the chase over the radio. He couldn’t hide the excitement in his voice - a buzz was coursing through every vein in his body. He was hyper-alert.

  Soon the cars were bumper to bumper, then, they were alongside, edging their car towards the driver’s side of the stolen Escort.

  Hunter caught the look of panic in the thief’s face as he fought with the steering.

  A split-second later the Escort snaked and Andy pulled away as it began to lose control. Blue smoke burned from the rear wheels and the Escort began to lurch sideways in a crab-like movement. Finally it went into a half-spin before bouncing against the grass verge. Hunter was out of the car even before the Escort came to a standstill. He saw the driver’s door starting to open and he kicked out. There was a sickening crunch followed by an ear-splitting scream. Hunter realised he had caught the thief’s leg between the door and the sill and he couldn’t help let out a smirk.

  Andy was beside Hunter in seconds, yanking at the door and the driver fell into the roadway in a painful heap.

  Clasping his hands around his shins he cried, “Fucking hell, there was no need for that.”

  “That serves you right for being a cheeky little bastard,” shouted Andy. “And you’re under arrest for nicking this car.”

  Screwing up his face the dark haired thief moaned, “Well you two wankers helped me!”

  * * * * *

  Hunter stood uncomfortably to attention beside Andy Sharp, studying the duty Inspector across the desk. There was a mug of coffee resting on a coaster and he could smell the aroma. He was nervous despite the beaming smile the Inspector threw at them.

  He said, “Well done you two. Run the job past me again.”

  Hunter let Andy do the talking and listened intently to the blow-by-blow account he gave. When it came to the moment where they had given the thief a push Andy omitted it. Hiding a gulp in his throat he again checked the Inspector’s face as Andy added more.

  Following the booking in of their car thief, at the Custody Suite, they had done a check on the name the man had given them. It transpired that their prisoner, Dale Swallow, was a well-known villain from Newcastle who specialised in stealing high-performance vehicles. He was part of a car-ringing team from the North east and was circulated as wanted throughout Yorkshire where expensive cars had been stolen during burglaries.

  As Andy finished his tale the Inspector congratulated them with the words, “This’ll mean a District Commendation for the pair of you. Well done once agai
n.”

  As Andy closed the Inspectors door, in the corridor Hunter let out a nervous sigh.

  Andy tapped him on the shoulder. “You heard what the Inspector said – commendation. Now don’t spoil it. There’s only you and I know what went on out there – keep it that way. He threw Hunter a wink. “Come on, we’ve got our statements to do.”

  - ooOoo -

  CHAPTER SIX

  Edith Thompson flashed open her eyes and strained her ears. Something had disturbed her. She thought she’d heard footsteps in the kitchen.

  Is it the carer? Is it time to get up?

  She was confused. It was still dark.

  Now it sounded as if someone was shuffling around in the lounge the other side of the bedroom door.

  Lifting her head from the pillow she leaned across and switched on the bedside light.

  “Hello,” she called out. “Dan, is that you?” Sometimes her grandson came to stay when he’d fallen out with his mum.

  Silence!

  Edith pushed aside the sheets and swung her legs out of bed. She grimaced as a sharp pain registered in her right hip. Her arthritis was playing up again. She waited for it to subside and then planted her feet on the floor, tracing out her toes in search of her slippers.

  She took her time sliding them on. Then dragging her dressing gown from off the bottom of her bed she clenched her back muscles to support her and eased herself up.

  Putting an arm through one sleeve she listened again. Nothing! She shrugged her shoulders. She must have been mistaken.

  Never mind, I’m up now. I’ll get myself a drink.

  Opening the door into the lounge she was confronted by a wall of darkness which took her by surprise and it caused her to step back. Quickly fumbling for the light switch she turned on the light.

  The first thing she saw was the man dressed in dark clothing standing in the doorway that connected the kitchen. He made her jump.

  She felt her heart race and she clasped her chest.

  “Who are you?” she yelled. “What are you doing in my house?”

  “Police,” the man in black replied. “You’re back door was unlocked. I’m just checking everything’s all right.”

  She could have sworn she had locked up. She looked the man over. He didn’t look like a policeman - too scruffy looking.

  She remembered what her grandson had told her. “Show me your identification.”

  He stepped towards her, reaching inside his coat and Edith caught the look in his eyes. She knew what she should have done but her legs wouldn’t let her. A panicky fear enveloped her – froze her solid to the floor.

  She let out the start of a scream as he approached her and he swung out a fist. The punch rocked her sideways, buffeting her against the wall. She choked back the remainder of her cry as she tried to stop herself falling.

  Then he was on her, grabbing at the front of her dressing gown, hoisting her towards his menacing face.

  “I’ll fucking kill you if you scream!”

  She noticed that his breath smelt strongly of stale cigarettes. Her John used to smoke. Where’s your fucking money? Tell me where it is now, or I’ll hurt you?”

  She wanted to tell him that she didn’t have much, only what was in her purse, but the words wouldn’t come out. Her chest was getting tighter. The breath caught in her throat.

  He began shaking her and shouting.

  Edith couldn’t make out what he was saying. The sound seemed distant. Bright flashes and stars cascaded before her eyes. She thought she heard her John calling after her and she smiled to herself. Then, she realised it couldn’t be her John. He’d been dead ten years.

  * * * * *

  Hunter was surprised to find the station so busy. Detectives seemed to be everywhere. He went into the locker room to grab his kit and found his tutor there.

  “What’s up?” Hunter enquired flicking his head back over his shoulder. “I’ve never seen so many CID.”

  Roger slipped on his pullover. “An old lass was attacked in her home last night. Aggravated burglary! She’s in a critical condition, and you and I have been hand-picked to be in on the job.”

  “Doing crime enquiries?”

  “Don’t get carried away young Kerr. Nothing so exciting. House-to-house.”

  “House-to-house!”

  “Yes, checking if there are any witnesses, seeing if anyone saw or heard anything, filling out forms. All that exciting kind of stuff.” He pulled out his overcoat and draped it over an arm.

  Hunter noted the note of sarcasm in his tutor’s last sentence. He said, “But this is exciting for me.”

  Leaning into his locker door Roger turned, meeting Hunter’s gaze. He broke into a smile. “Ignore me Hunter. This is what years in the job does to you.” Then fastening the door shut he added, “Make sure you’ve got all your stuff, this could be a long day and we might not get the chance to come back to the nick.” He set off towards the parade room. “Briefing’s in ten minutes.”

  * * * * *

  At briefing Hunter learned that Edith Thompson had been found early that morning by her carer in a heap in the lounge. She had suffered a heart attack and had bruising to her face. The carer had also found that the rear door had been forced and had immediately alerted the police.

  In recent weeks there had been a spate of burglaries in the area with a similar MO, but this was the first where the occupant had been hurt and a team of detectives had been marshalled to investigate. He and Roger were amongst half a dozen uniformed cops assigned to carry out house-to-house enquiries in and around the streets surrounding Edith’s bungalow.

  * * * * *

  Hunter strolled along the road scrutinising the last form he had completed. It was the tenth house-to-house questionnaire he’d done on his own and he was pleased with himself; he was into a roll with the process. For the first two hours of the day he’d been with Roger, watching and learning. After that he had convinced his tutor that he could go it alone. Not only that, he told Roger, but they could cover twice as much ground. His tutor had agreed, with the added proviso that Hunter contacted him immediately should he get information worthy of following up. Hunter had acknowledged with a nod and set off into the next street with a bundle of forms.

  That had been four hours ago Hunter determined as he checked his watch. His stomach was churning. Despite the numerous cups of teas he’d drunk during the form filling he’d only managed to snack on a sausage roll, during the time he’d been door-knocking and now he was running on empty. Seeing that it was only 7pm made him cringe. He had another hour and half to go before he could return to the station. He was also busting for a piss. He looked up and down the street and gathered his bearings. He realised that he was approaching an area at the end of the road which had been earmarked for development - several rows of old Victorian terracing was in the early stages of demolition. It was the ideal place to go he thought – there would still be toilets in some of the outbuildings.

  He picked up his pace, and turning the corner he spotted the long row of boarded up terracing stretching out before him. Then, tramping across waste ground he soon reached the rear of the old Victorian housing.

  He checked half a dozen outhouses before he found one with a suitable toilet.

  Hunter was just fastening up his trousers when a clattering noise, followed by a human curse sounded nearby making him jump. Stiffening, he held his breath and listened. Another burst of noise happened and Hunter recognised it as the sound of metal upon metal. He eased open the door and poked out his head. Autumn daylight was beginning to give way to evening and a dull orange glow was filling the horizon, but Hunter could still make out his surroundings. He stepped out of the building and edged slowly into the clearing of the waste ground. There he spotted movement. It was a silhouette at first – a human form crouching over something. Hunter’s fingers searched out his hasp. He secured them around its metal handle and increased his footfall towards the figure.

  Ten yards from his destinat
ion the character straightened and he immediately recognised George Arthur Hudson. He released the grip on his hasp.

  On a deeper than normal note Hunter commanded, “What are you doing Jud?”

  George spun around, his face displaying a mix of shock, surprise and amazement.

  He coughed a couple of times before replying, “Fucking hell young un’ you made me jump.”

  “What’re you up to?”

  “That’s a nice greeting. I’m not up to owt. Just doing my job that’s all.”

  Hunter took a few steps closer. Behind George he saw a wheelbarrow containing a couple of copper hot water cylinders. “What’re you doing with that lot?”

  “I’ve just said, doing my job.”

  Hunter scrutinised his face. “Explain.”

  “I’m on the security here. We’ve had a load of break-ins. Folks nicking the scrap. It’s my job to lock it in the compound for the night.” George pointed out metal mesh security fencing surrounding several Portakabins a hundred yards away. “It’s going in there.”

  Scrutinising the contents of the wheelbarrow Hunter checked his face again. George had a dead-pan look. “Okay, well make sure you do that.”

  George bent down and picked up the handles of the wheelbarrow. “Sure no problem.” Pushing the laden barrow in the direction of the builder’s compound he called back over his shoulder, “It’s good to see you around here, there’s no end of thieves about you know.”

  Watching George go Hunter couldn’t help but smile. He’s some need to talk, he thought, as he headed back to the street to finish off his house-to-house enquiries.

  - ooOoo –

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Cradling a mug of steaming tea Hunter listened to the bulletins the sergeant was reading out at briefing. It was back to normal duties. He and Roger had completed their previous day’s house-to-house enquiries and had been released from the investigation. Hunter would have liked to have been involved longer but he had already been told that there was no chance of that unless he was part of CID, and as he watched his plain clothed counterparts go about their business he had already decided that’s what he wanted to do in the future.

 

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