Throughout the short conversation Hunter had one ear to his radio and he could still make out that officers were speeding towards his location. He held up a finger to shush her and interrupted the radio chatter, “You can cancel any further assistance I’m with the complainant now. The offender has left the premises I’m just getting details.” He returned his look to the woman. “Now tell me what’s happened.”
In between sobs Hunter learned that she was 23 year old Kim Davies, and that the man who had attempted to strangle her was her boyfriend of eighteen months, Peter Jackson, two years her senior. She also told him that this attack wasn’t the first time. “You ask my friends, they’ll tell you what he’s like towards me. He’s given me many a black eye, even when they’ve been there.”
The name, Peter Jackson didn’t mean anything to him. He asked, “Have you made a previous complaint? Has he been arrested?”
Shaking her head she dragged away her eyes and shied them to her feet. She crossed her ankles.
For a few seconds Hunter’s eyes were glued to her bright red painted toe nails. He broke away his gaze when she said.
“I want to report it this time. I’ve had enough. You ought to have seen the look in his eyes. I’m telling you if I hadn’t have managed to get to the phone when I did you’d be dealing with a murder now. His tempers getting worse. It’s all that wacky-baccy he’s smoking.”
Hunter took out his pocket book. “I’ll just get a few details and some background and then I’ll take a statement.”
“I want to press charges. I want him locked up.”
“If you give a statement, I’ll arrest him.”
“Will he be kept locked up? I don’t want him coming back here. He really will kill me you know, especially if he knows I’ve made a statement against him.”
Hunter shrugged his shoulders. “Kim I can lock him up and charge him, but I honestly don’t know if he’ll be kept. That will be up to the magistrates. Has he been in trouble for this type of thing before?”
“You mean beaten up anyone else?”
Hunter stopped writing and nodded.
“I’m going to tell you something now, but this hasn’t come from me, okay?”
“You know something about Peter? He’s done something else? Serious?”
Kim Davies dropped her gaze and started wringing her hands. She was quiet for the best part of the thirty seconds then she glanced up. “That old lady who was attacked in her home!”
Hunter’s eyes widened, “Edith Thompson?”
“I don’t know her name. She was beaten up and robbed the middle of last week. They said on the news that she was critical.”
“Yes, that was Edith Thompson.”
She pulled away her gaze again and looked at her rotating hands, “That was Peter!”
Hunter felt a jolt run up his back. He stiffened. “Are you sure?”
She lifted her eyes. Her look was one of earnest. “He told me he thought she would be loaded, but he only got a few quid from her purse.” Kim held Hunter’s look. “I’m right aren’t I?”
Hunter’s thoughts began to race. He got back on his radio and requested CID.
- ooOoo -
CHAPTER TEN
In the darkness of his dingy, damp surroundings Peter Jackson was furious. Earlier, while in the pub he’d taken a call from his mate to say that CID was looking for him and he had also learned that they had turned over his Mother’s house. For the last eleven hours he had kept a low profile finding refuge in an empty lock-up.
As dawn approached he only had one thing on his mind – revenge.
* * * * *
Kim Davies had not slept. Even though that young cop had assured her that the night shift would make regular passing patrols she had become a nervous bundle the moment he had left her flat. She’d secured the door as best she could, even wedging a chair under the handle for extra security – she’d seen it done on the telly – but it had not helped her sleep. She’d twice heard a car below her window and peeked out through the curtains. It was a police car, as promised and yet she still felt uneasy. Finally, as dawn broke, and realising sleep was still a long way off, she slipped on her dressing gown and made her downstairs to the kitchen to make herself a coffee.
At the bottom of the stairs she paused and gazed in the hallway mirror. Her reflection was not a pretty sight. Rheumy, panda-like eyes stared back. Taking a step nearer she pulled away the collar of her dressing gown and viewed the ugly marks her boyfriend had left behind on her neck. She delicately traced a finger around the tender wheals. They were beginning to bruise. Her scalp was sore as well where he had yanked out chunks of her hair. Pulling back her focus she took in the upper part of her image. A tear formed in the corner of an eye. She blinked it away. How had she put it with this for so long
Suddenly, the clattering of milk bottles outside her door brought her thoughts back.
The milkman’s here, she thought, and began to drag the chair away from under the handle.
* * * * *
Back pressed against a tree, clenching and unclenching his hands, Peter Jackson stared up at the flat where his girlfriend lived. He was shaking. Not from the chill of early morning, but from the pent-up homicidal fury rampaging inside.
That bitch had sold him out to the cops and now it was time to make her to pay.
Fixing his angry stare upon the curtain-closed windows of Kim’s first floor flat while thinking through how he could get in there without causing too much fuss, and catching her unawares, the whine of an electric milk float going towards the block suddenly gave him an idea.
He launched himself away from the trunk and broke into a jog.
Slowing his pace, waiting for the milkman to enter by the main doors, Peter caught the door before it fastened behind. He entered the ground floor hallway to see the milkman beginning his climb to the first floor.
“I’ll take that mate,” Peter said in a low voice, stepping towards him and holding out a hand.
The milkman turned and with a recognising look said, “I don’t normally see you at this time in the morning.”
“Got a new job. Been on nights this week. Soon be tucked up in a warm bed though.”
The milkman removed a pint of milk from his wire basket and handed it over. Turning back and slipping past Peter he said, “Jammy bugger.”
Peter mounted the concrete stairs quickly and reaching the landing he glanced downwards. The milkman was nowhere in sight. Knowing Kim’s routine he chinked the bottle loudly against the wall and stepped to one side.
Within a few seconds he heard a noise behind the door. Something was being pulled back, then, he heard the key turn and the safety chain unlatch.
A tingling sensation coursed through his body and crouching into a squat he tensed.
As the door cracked open Peter launched himself. The force of his thrust spiralled Kim backwards smacking her against the hall wall.
A groan exploded from her mouth as Peter made a lunge. He made a grab for her short wrap dressing gown but the satin material slipped through his fingers and she slid sideways to the floor throwing him off balance. He tumbled against the staircase and had to snatch a hand over the top rail to stop from falling.
Kim let out a piercing scream.
“Shut up, you fucking bitch,” he yelled and lashed out with a foot. It caught the top of her arm.
He pulled back his foot again, but before he could deliver the second kick Kim shot up her leg and flat-footed his groin.
It was his turn to groan as he instantly doubled-up grabbing at his testicles.
Scrambling backwards on all fours, while trying to lift herself up at the same time, Kim clambered awkwardly into the kitchen.
Recovering quickly and heaving himself forward Peter entered the doorway just as his girlfriend was reaching out for the work surface to pull herself up. Pain and hate was cascading through him as he eyed her hand clawing for a grip. Beyond her fingers he spotted a glint of metal.
At the
same time he caught the movement in Kim’s eyes. She was following his gaze and had locked onto the same thing he had clocked lying on the work surface.
Her face took on a look of horror as he propelled forward.
Kim only had time to scream “NO” once before Peter plunged the kitchen knife into her chest.
* * * * *
It was Hunter’s quick change around from Afternoon’s to the day shift. He had got into work at 5.45am that morning and had just put on the kettle to make drinks for the group when Roger Mills bounded into the room.
“No time for that Hunter we’ve got a three-nines. That domestic you went to last night. Ambulance have just taken a call saying that a young woman’s been stabbed at that address.”
The entire shift turned out and within ten minutes half a dozen police cars had the block of flats where Kim Davies lived surrounded. They even beat the Ambulance Service to the address.
Roger and Hunter were first through the entrance doors, taking the stairs two at a time. The door to Kim’s flat was wide open.
Hunter spotted a bloodied handprint on the jamb.
Roger called out loudly, “Police” as he stepped over the threshold.
“Through here,” a female voice shouted back.
Roger and Hunter followed the sound and found a scene of carnage in the kitchen. Blood covered cupboards, both floor and wall and a thick pool of dark blood covered as well surrounded a limp form.
Beneath the bloodied mess Hunter recognised Kim Davies.
Cradling her was a dark haired woman in a dressing gown. She too was covered in blood and had a towel pressed over Kim’s chest. Glancing up she said, “I’m a nurse. I live downstairs. I heard her screaming. She’s lost a lot of blood.”
“The ambulance is on its way, it shouldn’t be long,” Roger replied, kneeling down.”Is there anything we can do?”
“No, I need to keep the pressure on this wound. Her breathing’s got shallower in the last few minutes.” Lifting her eyes she pursed her mouth and shook her head. It was a look which said ‘it’s touch and go.’
Pushing himself up Roger met the nurse’s gaze. “Try and keep her with us. I’ll chase up where the ambulance is.” As he reached the doorway he looked back, “You didn’t see who did this by any chance, did you?”
“That boyfriend of hers! He nearly knocked me back down the stairs running away.”
In the distance Hunter picked up the sound of wailing sirens. The ambulance was here. He hoped it wouldn’t be too late.
- ooOoo -
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Within a matter of hours of the attack uniform and plain clothes officers had converged upon Dearne Road, swarming around the tenement blocks, searching for evidence and seeking witnesses. Every manhole and drain cover was lifted and shortly before 11am they had found the knife discarded by Peter Jackson.
Behind the scenes a general call had gone out for his capture, with a full description circulated to every Constabulary together with an all-ports bulletin. Peter Jackson was a fugitive on the run.
Kim Davies had been fortunate. The emergency first-aid administered by the neighbour nurse, stemming the flow of blood from several deep wounds, had saved her life. Surgery, to repair the damage, had taken fours hours and 12 units of blood had been used during her operation. She was currently on life support in a critical, but stable condition.
Hunter and the rest of his group had been part of the initial scene search, but upon finding the weapon had been assigned to house-to-house investigation. This was his second occasion on a major enquiry and he was in the thick of it, relishing every moment. However, after six hours of banging on doors and gleaning nothing he was beginning to grow weary and by the time dusk fell, with no sign of Peter Jackson being captured, his initial excitement had waned.
During evening de-brief Hunter learned, from DC Harry Hemsworth, that he and Emma’s burglar – Mathew David Smith – had given up Jackson as his drug supplier. Given this latest information, together with the attack upon Edith Thompson, it was evident that once captured Peter Jackson would be going away for a long time.
Off duty and in the pub that night, Hunter found the ear of Harry Hemsworth, and after an initial chat about the investigation Harry regaled numerous anecdotes from his years in CID. Hunter found himself hanging on to the seasoned detective’s every word, and four pints later, he stumbled away from the pub and wended his way home to his parents, happy and contented with the career he had chosen and hoping one day he would achieve detective status.
The next morning, nursing a thick head, Hunter listened to the up-date of the incident. Kim Davies’ condition had improved though she was still sedated. Overnight every known associate and family member of Peter Jackson had been visited and their homes searched. At one of the addresses cannabis had been found and at another evidence from a recent burglary. Hunter learned that this was the usual case during any major enquiry – the detections of crime always went up. As briefing came to an end Hunter was tasked with another day of house-to-house enquiries.
Checking his tray, that there was no urgent admin, Hunter made his way to the locker room and while getting himself ready he could hear Emma Goodwin’s voice back along the corridor seeking him out. Quickly slinging his equipment belt around his waist and fastening its buckle he answered her call.
She poked her head in through the door. “Phone call for you in the parade room,” she said and disappeared.
Hunter hot-footed it back to the parade room where he found Emma seated at the large table writing in her pocket book. She met his gaze and pointed to a phone, the handset of which was off.
Emma shrugged her shoulders, “He wouldn’t give his name,” she said and went back to her writing.
Hunter picked up the handset. “PC Kerr.”
A muffled but discernable voice said, “It’s Jud. Jud Hudson. I promised I’d give you a call. You’re looking for Peter Jackson!”
Hunter’s eyes lit up. He transferred the handset to his other ear, and trapping it to his shoulder snatched up a pen and several scraps of paper from the table and positioned ready to take notes. “What do you know then Jud?”
“Nobody must know I gave you this. Are we clear?” the faint voice continued.
The voice was so stifled that Hunter had a mental picture of Jud covering the mouthpiece with a hand. He replied, “Absolutely.”
“And then you and I are straight?”
“We are Jud.”
“No come backs?”
“No come-backs Jud.”
“Good, now take this down then.” In a suppressed tone George Hudson rattled off the location where Peter Jackson was and upon finishing hung up without a goodbye.
Hunter held the phone trapped for a good few seconds as he finished jotting down George’s information. In his right ear the receiver buzzed annoyingly. Then, stabbing down a full stop at the end of his disjointed notes, he slammed the handset back on its cradle.
As he snatched up his note he met Emma’s gaze.
She said, “That’s a face that tells me you’ve got something.”
Hunter waved the scrap of paper. “Not many. I’ve only been told where Peter Jackson is.” Then he bolted towards the door.
Bursting into the CID office Hunter saw Harry Hemsworth at his desk on the phone. Harry looked up, latched onto him and beckoned him forward and pointed to an empty seat at the desk opposite.
Delivering a faint smile Harry held onto Hunter’s gaze as he talked over the phone.
Hunter quickly picked up that Harry was engaged in a private conversation as opposed to a job related one and unable to make sense of the one-sided conversation impatiently drummed his fingers as he waited for the detective to finish.
A couple of minutes later Harry hung up and pushed himself back in his seat. “Now then young Kerr, you look as though you’ve got something you want to get off your chest.”
Hunter held up the note. “I’ve just been told where Peter Jackson is holed
up.”
“Oh aye.”
“Yeah. He’s down on the old Manvers Coking Plant site.”
Harry’s brow tightened. “Anywhere specific? That’s a big area.”
“It is, but my snout tells me he’s got a vehicle – a Nissan Bluebird – red.”
“Your snout eh? Six months in and you have a snout! Can I ask who this snout is?”
Hunter shook his head. “I promised I wouldn’t say. It’s someone who owes me a favour.”
“Okay I respect that.” Harry pushed himself out of his chair and picked up a bunch of keys. “The old coking plant it is then. Come on we’ll go in my car and see if we can catch ourselves a big fish.”
Hunter launched himself up, “What about back-up?”
Harry balled his hand into a fist and held it in front of Hunter’s face. “This is all the back-up we’ll need.”
Inside ten minutes Harry Hemsworth was pulling the CID car off the main road and onto a narrow dirt track which led towards the old coking plant. Overgrown hedges flanked either side of the track, scraping the sides of the car and slowing their progress. The dark blue Peugeot bumped and rocked across dried ruts of mud and coal dust for approximately a hundred yards. There the track opened up to a wider lane with ditches either side. At the end of it, before them, was a pair of battered, half-open, metal gates, an old ‘warning security’ sign hanging at an angle upon them.
Harry slowly edged in the unmarked car, the engine only giving out a purr. Ten yards inside the huge compound he killed the engine and coasted for a few more yards before coming to a halt.
They both wound down their windows and scoped the derelict coking plant site, stretching web-like for hundreds of metres in all directions.
Black & Blue: Where it all began…… (D.S Hunter Kerr) Page 5