Cold Death (D.S.Hunter Kerr) (3 page)

Their brake lights flashed on and Hunter could see blue smoke burning from beneath the wheels as the tyres protested on the wet glistening road. Chippings flew up from the surface as their car lurched sideways and began to bounce crab-like.
It hit the damp moorland grasses at the road edge, throwing up huge tufts and began sliding out of control. Their car bucked into a ditch, bounced back out, and flipped over into an uncontrollable spin, roof and chassis rebounding into the moorland heather, only finally coming to a halt when it thumped into a peat bog.

Hunter stamped the brake pedal and the Audi slewed sideways onto the grassed verge.

He flung open his door ready for the sprint towards his parent’s crashed car.  It felt as if everything had gone into slow motion.

He was conscious of Beth fishing around in her handbag trying to find her mobile, whilst on the back seat he caught a quick glimpse of the boys, straining against their seat belts, both pale-faced and displaying looks of horror. Switching his gaze he saw fifty yards ahead the BMW’s brake-lights flash on and it skewed to a halt.

He stopped mid-pace as the driver’s door flew open.

Hunter heaved a sigh of relief. He had initially thought this was going to be a hit-and-run; that this had been a deliberate act. Now that the car had stopped he guessed it was just bad driving and the driver was coming to help.

That was until he recognised the man who emerged. It was the bald headed man he had seen earlier back in Staithes arguing with his father.

The man took a long hard stare at Hunter, and with outstretched hand he reached across the roof of the car and pointed towards his parents upturned car. He fashioned two fingers together and cocked his thumb into a makeshift pistol, and jolting his hand he mimicked a firing action. He never took his eyes off Hunter, fixing him with a malicious grin before mouthing the words ‘POW!’  

Then the bald headed man was leaping back into the car, and it squealed away throwing up a film of spray in its wake.

Hunter managed to clock the car’s registration before it disappeared over the brow.

Snatching his thoughts back into focus he shouted to Beth to dial 999 and then he kicking his heels sprinted across the front of his Audi and bounded across the moorland heather to his parents crashed vehicle, a plume of steam now masking its predicament.

* * * * *

Barnwell:

‘I just know this is going to be cold’
Katie Williamson said to herself as she stepped ungainly into the murky waters of Barnwell lake, disturbing the stillness of its surface with her finned feet as she sought out the security of the shale bottom; and she knew that once she became fully submerged it would be even colder. From a previous dive here she knew that in a few minutes the pain inside her head was going to be as intense and sharp as if she had eaten chilled ice cream.

“I’ll be only a couple of feet behind you - remember the signals?” her dive instructor and buddy Craig Palmer said.

Katie watched her dive-buddies eyes roaming around her body, though she knew he wasn’t eyeing her up – he was double-checking that all her diving equipment was in place.

Katie formed an ‘O’ shape with her thumb and forefinger. She could feel the resistance in the neoprene gloves as she forced them together.

“Good. And if you need to come up quickly?”

She stuck a thumb in the air and jabbed it skywards several times.

“Okay, final checks. This is your last dive and then we can sign your logbook up for your first qualification. Looking forward to it?”

“In these freezing waters, you’re joking”

She watched a smile crease her instructor’s face.

“You are such a wimp. Twenty minutes and the ordeal will all be over and this time next year you’ll be able to take a novice out yourself. Now check your air pressure and that your hoses are not tangled.”

Katie slotted the mouthpiece of her breathing regulator into her mouth, adjusting it slightly so that it fitted snugly between her teeth and lips. She purged the demand valve and a blast of concentrated air shot into her mouth, plumping out her cheeks. She swallowed, tasting the freshness and purity of the compressed air and formed another ‘O’ with her fingers.

“Okay, mask on and let’s make our way to the centre of the lake.”

Katie lifted her bright pink facemask over her eyes, waited a couple of seconds to ensure that it wasn’t going to fog over and began to walk penguin-fashion over the loose stones and moss, edging slowly into the waters.

As she reached chest height she felt her stab jacket taking over her buoyancy, keeping her afloat and enabling her to flip her finned feet and push towards the middle of the lake. She could hear Craig splashing closely behind. After five minutes swimming Katie felt a tap on her shoulder.

“Okay this is it. Let the air out of your jacket and let’s drop to the bottom. We’re going to swing left and circle the lake, okay?”

She reached above the water and formed another ’O’ with her gloved hand and then began slowly releasing the air out of her life jacket, feeling herself sink
below the surface, aided by additional lead weights fastened around her waist. From her last dive she knew that it wouldn’t be long before she hit bottom; the depth was only five metres.

Katie felt the slippery fronds of the reeds brush against her as she evened herself out and began sweeping through the gloomy depths, trying to acclimatise herself to her surroundings, pushing her hands forward to feel because it was so hard to see. Kicking hard she began her turn heading left. Her breathing was
steadying and she was surprised that the water wasn’t as cold as she had expected.

This is not going to be too bad after all,
she said to herself, dragging one hand along the silt bottom and beginning to take in her immediate surroundings given that her eyes had adjusted in the dimness.

Katie felt a sudden tap on her calf and guessed Craig wanted her to take in another turn. She pulled her wrist towards her face and checked her watch. They had been diving for just over ten minutes.

Half way there already
,
time has flown.

With a kick she propelled herself left again and adjusted her movement with a graceful flip of fins.

Then her knee hit something, taking her by surprise. Something that was soft and pliable. Something that cushioned her blow and which she knew was alien to the environment. Katie stopped in her tracks almost falling onto the object. She spun around and began seeking for her dive-buddies attention. She focussed on his facemask and began waving frantically. Confident she had captured his attention she jabbed her thumb downwards.

Katie dropped to her knees almost astride the entity and began rubbing her gloved hand over it. Enmeshed in the weeds she could make out the pattern of what appeared to be a rolled up carpet. Puzzled by this bundle she felt for an edge to unfurl, and finding a corner she tugged hard. For a split-second her mind wouldn’t take in what was peeking out from one end of the rug. Then it hit her. The bloated green grey distorted blob had a face – a human face. Katie realised she was looking at a dead body. Gasping she almost released her regulator mouth-piece and in that same instance the opening of her mouth allowed water to rush in, hitting the back of her throat, causing her to gag. There was no time to signal to her dive-buddy. Blind panic took over and Katie kicked frantically towards the surface.

* * * * *

Ever increasing their pace, Major Investigation Team Detective’s, Grace Marshall and Mike Sampson scrunched along the limestone footpath towards the entrance of Barnwell Country Park.

Grace had gone less than a hundred yards from where they had parked their unmarked car when her breathing became laboured and she began to feel uncomfortable. The warm effects of the sun, beating down through a cloudless blue sky were making her hot and sticky. She slackened her pace, unbuttoned her jacket and slipped off the elastic scrunchy from around her wrist and corralled her tight black, blonde highlighted, corkscrew curls back from the sides of her face and fastened them into a tidy bunch.

That was better.

Threading her way between tall laurel bushes, lining the route towards the lake, Grace’s thoughts momentarily drifted. Being here brought back happy memories; all those times of strolling around the lakeside path followed by a homemade picnic whilst watching the world go by with her two daughters and husband. Times she still treasured in her memory especially now that the girls were growing up fast and no longer wanted to do those things.

The two detectives nodded their greetings to the uniformed male officer who had been given the job of guarding the entranceway to the crime scene. He returned their acknowledgement and scribbled down their arrival on his log.

Ducking beneath the blue and white police tape Grace and Mike pushed through another set of laurel bushes and finally found themselves’ staring out over a very busy, yet organised setting.

Three Scenes of Crime Officers were already evident, dressed in their white forensic suits. Two were in the process of cordoning off a small wooden jetty which led out into the lake whilst another was snapping off a number of photographs; adjusting his tripod as he took in the panorama. Grace recognised the cameraman as Duncan Wroe the Force’s very experienced civilian SOCO manager.

A few feet from the edge of the quay two wet suited police frogman controlled their rubber dinghy whilst another was slipping beneath the surface; a burst of air bubbles from his breathing apparatus frothed the surface signifying his descent. Grace guessed that directly beneath there was where the body had been discovered and the Underwater Search Unit was now trying to haul it up safely from its silted grave.

At the lake’s edge a uniform sergeant was briefing her team instructing them before they carried out an initial search of the area. By the picnic benches next to the country park reception centre Grace spotted two other divers. The female of the two was seated on one of the benches doubled-up, her fair-haired head being supported in her hands. The male, with tanned complexion and short crew cut hair, stood over her, resting a hand on her shoulder. From the phone call Grace had picked up at the office an hour ago she guessed that these were the two divers who had found the corpse. She reached inside her jacket, excavated her warrant card and slipped it into her breast pocket.

Let them know girl that you’re
in charge
.

Hunter had handed her the mantle of Acting Sergeant whilst he was away and she was going to show she could handle it. She took in a deep breath at the same time taking in all the details of the scene; determining inside her head who was doing what and what remained to be done. Gathering her thoughts, slowly she exhaled and turned to Mike. “I’m guessing those two are the ones who’ve found the body,” she said pointing in the direction of the man and woman occupying the benches. “You go and have a word with them and I’ll go and have a word with uniform and also see what SOCO have got for us.”

Grace watched Mike Sampson scrutinising the slim, faired haired girl, presently kneading her eyes.

“Now that’s how I like my women – dressed head to toe in black rubber.” He winked at Grace
.

“Mike!” Grace fixed him with her warm burnt umber eyes.

“What?”

“What is it with you men?  A bloody murder scene and you’re still thinking of sex.”

“That’s just my way of dealing with a crisis ma’am,” he quipped mockingly and cracked a grin.

“Go on, bugger off and see what they have to say.”

Mike spun on his heels tugging the sleeves of his oversized jacket away from his pudgy fingers.

She knew it was a perpetual habit of his. From her time working with him she had become aware that Mike had bought his jackets several sizes larger than his chest measurement, in order to fit over his barrel shaped paunch. This meant that the sleeves were long
than his arms and therefore partly covered his hands.

“Oh, and Mike,” she shouted towards him.

He spun around.

“Don’t start playing pocket billiards whilst you’re interviewing her.”

“I shall ensure my afflictions are kept under control at all times Acting Sergeant Marshall,” he retorted in an exaggerated tone, as he left her side.

Grace smiled to herself. Despite Mike being the joker in the pack she knew that when he was given a task he always approached it as the consummate professional.

By the time Grace had reached Duncan Wroe, the SOCO manager had removed his camera from its tripod and was manually aiming its wide lens in the direction of the frogmen. There was still no sign of the body being brought to the surface.

“What have you got for me Duncan?” asked Grace striding towards him.

The SOCO manager spun around, taking his eyes away from the viewfinder. “Oh hi Grace, I saw you arrive but I was busy.”

With his sharp features, unruly hair and regular unshaven face, Duncan Wroe’s outward image depicted anything but the sharp minded and experienced forensic specialist that he was. Fortunately for Grace any prejudices she had about his appearance had been blown away early doors in her career. He had been called out to the scene of her first rape case; a teenage girl attacked whilst out walking her dog. A good quarter of a mile from the scene Duncan had found some trainer marks amongst bushes and a discarded cigarette butt and acting on a hunch had recovered them. Within a week they had DNA of the perpetrator, and whilst carrying out a search of the young man’s home Duncan had discovered his trainers secreted amongst the rubbish of a wheelie bin. It transpired the rapist had carried out two other similar crimes, and at court he was given a life sentence. Since then she had worked with him on many cases and knew that his technical craft and knowledge of forensics was second to none. Such was his ability and standing that he was one of the very few civilian scenes of crimes officer’s in the country to be promoted to the position of manager; most supervisors being police officers of rank.