He pulled his black Audi Quattro into the kerb, slotting it behind three liveried police vehicles, an ambulance, its strobe lights still whirling, and a CID car, all of which appeared to be in a state of abandonment rather than parked. For a few seconds he surveyed the street. The incident had already brought a cast of onlookers out from their homes to collect and gossip on the pavements. Some of them were in their dressing gowns. The majority however, had on jogging pants and T-shirts, or sweat tops; well prepared for their long-haul of gawking. Two uniformed officers, in high visibility coats, were doing their best to shepherd the separate groups into one assembly. Hunter scanned a few of the faces, wondering how many of them would willingly come forward as witnesses given the wickedness of the crime.
Killing the engine, he reached behind and snatched his outdoor coat from off the rear seat and pushed open the door. Nudging an arm through one sleeve he stepped out onto the road and cast his steel blue eyes around the scene again. The view stretching out before him wrenched back distant memories. In his early years he had lived only two streets away, and this had been one of the neighbourhoods he had frequented, before his parents had moved to their present home. As happy childhood images tumbled around inside his head it suddenly dawned on him just how long ago that had been; he had last set foot in this terrace twenty-three years ago, when he had been thirteen years old, and although the general appearance of the two rows of red-brick Victorian houses remained very much the same, he identified a number of cosmetic changes which had given the place a much needed makeover. For one, the old concrete stanchion lamps had been replaced by modern metal ones. Recalling how the area had been one of gloom, especially during the winter months, he saw that the street was now bathed in a warm ambient light. Secondly, and more significantly, the view at the head of the two rows had changed dramatically. Where there had once been wasteland and an old dilapidated set of buildings, which had once been a brickworks company, there was now a carpet of well maintained grass. Metal bollards at regular placed intervals prevented vehicle access to the area and through it snaked a footpath towards a newly constructed industrial estate, the perimeter of which had been artistically landscaped. And though the look of the place interfered with his nostalgic memories he had to admit that it looked better like this.
As he switched his gaze back to the onlookers, finally being corralled into one group, he wondered if any of them before him were those from his childhood years and if so would they remember him.
The chilly breeze picked up a notch, brushing his face, blowing away the memories and snapping his thoughts back to the moment. He zipped up his padded coat, tucked his chin into his collar, dipped his hands into his pockets and made towards the cordon. Another uniformed officer, highly visible in a fluorescent jacket, guarded the barrier. Hunter recognised him, though he couldn’t recall his name, and so instead of saying something, gave him a nod of acknowledgement as he ducked beneath the tape to enter the outer cordon. As he passed by he saw the officer lift his clipboard and write upon it; Hunter knew that he’d been given the job of logging the comings and goings of everyone who visited the scene.
Straightening himself Hunter slid his left hand out of his pocket and glanced at his watch, mentally noting the time: 3:40am – thirty-five minutes earlier he had been tucked up in his warm bed, dead to the world.
Then up ahead he spotted the person who had dragged him out from his warm bed. Detective Superintendent Dawn Leggate was striding purposefully towards him. He couldn’t help but notice that even at this time in the morning she cut quite a stylish figure in her knee-length camel coloured cashmere coat and calf length boots. As if she was on a night out. He fought back a smile. His new boss reminded him so much of his long time working partner, DC Grace Marshall, who likewise never turned out anywhere without looking her very best – even to a gruesome murder scene.
Slugging his hands back into his coat pockets he picked up his heels. Striding to greet his Senior Investigating Officer he said, “Morning boss.”
In her silky Scottish burr she replied, “Morning Hunter, sorry to call you out. The night detective from District CID is here but this is one I think we should be involved in, it’s a repeat domestic.”
Hunter immediately knew that his SIO was referring to the fact that the address where the murder had occurred was one which had been repeatedly attended by the police as a result of reports, or complaints, relating to violence being perpetrated upon one or more of the occupants. He enquired, “The victim?”
“I’m told it’s a lady by the name of Gemma Cooke. Twenty-nine year old. Lives at number thirty-four.” She half-turned and pointed towards the head of the street. “Duncan Wroe from SOCO arrived five minutes ago. He’s in there now.” Detective Superintendent Leggate spun on her heels, flicked her head at Hunter - a gesture for him to join her - and set off in the direction she had indicated.
Hunter fell in beside her. “You said on the phone it was a stabbing.”
“Aye. Repeatedly with a kitchen knife by the look of things! The young lady’s in a bit of a mess! I’ve only briefly viewed the body. Only got here myself ten minutes ago.”
* * * * *
COMING, READY OR NOT can be pre-ordered.
OTHER DS HUNTER KERR TITLES
HEART OF THE DEMON
COLD DEATH
SECRETS OF THE DEAD
REAP WHAT YOU SOW
(A short story e-book from the case files of Hunter Kerr)
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Black & Blue: Where it all began…… (D.S Hunter Kerr) Page 7