Coming, Ready or Not (D.S. Hunter Kerr Book 4) (10 page)

Hunter
didn’t respond. He simply bunched his shoulders.
That’s the answer I would
have given if I had stabbed someone to death with a kitchen knife.
He quickly tumbled this interview, and everything else he knew from previous briefings, around in his head. He lowered his eyes, pretending to read his notes as he gathered his thoughts. He recalled how the neighbour, Valerie Bryce had made the three-nines phone call to the police, telling the operator that Adam Fields was shouting and banging on Gemma’s back door, at just after ten past two on the morning of the 18th March. If what Tom Hagan had just told them was the truth, this meant that the time-gap between Tom leaving number 34 Manvers Terrace, and Adam Fields arriving at the address, and discovering Gemma’s body was approximately twenty-five minutes. Not a tight window, but neither a large one for them to focus on. He was just about to go back over Tom’s story when he recalled what Mike Sampson had introduced at this morning’s briefing. He asked, ‘When you last saw Gemma, what was she wearing?’

Tom Hagan
’s eyebrows knitted together. For a brief moment his eyes blanked. A few seconds later he answered. ‘A nightie.’ He pursed his mouth and momentarily gazed up to the ceiling, obviously thinking about the answer he had just given. Then his eyes returned and he nodded. ‘Yes, a short satin one – purple – and a matching kimono-type dressing gown. When I came out of the bathroom she was waiting for me on the landing. She had on the nightie and was wrapping the dressing gown around her. She said she’d see me out. Why?’

‘
Anything else?’

Momentarily, he
screwed up his face.

Hunter examined his face.
Tom Hagan’s eyes were wide open but they weren’t focused anywhere. There was an eerie silence for a good ten seconds and then he captured Hunter’s look. He shook his head, ‘No, just her nightie and dressing gown. I don’t think she had any slippers on or anything like that. I think she was barefooted when she let me out of the back door. She said she was gonna go straight back to bed, cos she was going to be knackered otherwise. She had a busy day ahead of her.’

‘
Did you notice any jewellery she had on?’

‘
Jewellery? Jewellery as in rings, bracelets?’ He seemed to think about the question again for a few seconds and then returned, ‘No. I remember she’d a watch on earlier, but she took that off before we went upstairs.’ He raised a finger. ‘Yeah, she took it off when we were kissing cos the strap caught in the back of my hair.’

‘
What about a necklace?’

He screwed up his forehead.
‘Necklace? No, she didn’t have a necklace on. Just a watch.’

Hunter and Grace grilled Tom Hagan for another hour, but they couldn’t shift him from his story. Following consultation with CPS, he was granted and given police bail. Two officers from the Professional Standards department had been waiting for the PPU Detective, and the moment he had stepped out of the interview room they had confronted him. They had served him with a ‘discipline notice’ and had duly suspended him from his duties.

It was well into the afternoon by the time Hunter and Grace had finished fingerprinting and photographing Tom Hagan and furnished him with the appropriate release documents.

Hunter
returned to his desk feeling low and his head was mashed. He had to get out of the office to unpick everything and make some sense of it all. He made the excuse to Grace that he was just nipping out for something to eat and then jumped into one of the MIT cars and drove out of the station yard at speed with no direction in mind. By the time he had gathered his thinking he was near to Manvers Terrace. He took a detour to the murder scene.

Most of the
street had been re-opened to the residents, though a line of blue and white tape secured the immediate area around number 34 and a Community Support Officer was standing guard to prevent trespass of the inner cordon. Hunter pulled into the side of the road, killed the engine and stared out through the windscreen. By Gemma’s front door Hunter couldn’t help but note the line of colourful floral tributes decorating the footpath.

Obviously very well thought of.

For several seconds his thoughts drifted.
He tried to focus on the interview with Tom Hagan but being here interfered with his concentration. His thoughts were spiralling around and he found himself reflecting on his childhood and early teenage years rather than that morning’s work. He set his sights beyond the crime scene tape and rested it on the grassed area at the head of the street. He had shared some good times here in the early 1980s; playing football. That piece of grass, back then, had been rough wasteland that backed onto derelict Brickworks. There was no sign of it now. He and his mates had used part of the broken perimeter wall as one of the goals; chalks marks outlined goalposts. While at this end jumpers or coats signified the other goals. He’d been Kevin Keegan, midfield dynamo. Other members of their imaginary England Squad had been taken up by his best friends, Tony Mitchell, Rob Jenkinson and the McCarthy brothers – Danny and David. He tumbled their young, cheery-faced images, around in his head and as their faces hazed away he wondered what they were all doing with their lives now. He caught himself and dragged back his thoughts. He switched focus, delivering his gaze upon number 34. What he had previously believed, about Gemma Cooke’s murder being ‘domestic’ related, was turning out to be nothing as straightforward. Something else was puzzling him as well. It had to do with that necklace they had found on Gemma’s body.

- ooOoo –

Day
Seven: 24th March.

Pulling his Audi into the car park of Barnwell Police Station, Hunter ratcheted down the music of Blondie, while simultaneously scanning the rear yard for a parking place. Spotting an available space, between two marked patrol cars, he freewheeled into it and switched off the engine. In buoyant mood he nudged open his door and took in a deep breath. He filled his lungs, catching the morning freshness. Birdsong was the only sound around him. He listened to the exalted exchanges between the different species and pondered for a moment, staring skywards. As he caught a glimpse of the sun breaking through a thin veil of light grey clouds, he mused it was one of those days where he’d rather be out painting than being cooped up in a stuffy office. He shook himself out his reflections. One day, he told himself, and that’s all I’m going to do. Every day, come rain or shine.

But today
, Detective Sergeant Kerr, you have a killer to catch.

Locking
up the car he marched off across the car park, singing the chorus of ‘Dreaming’ inside his head. As he neared the rear door a smile played across his mouth; as a teenager he’d lusted after Debbie Harry; pouting images of her had adorned his bedroom walls. He caught himself again. He was in a contemplative mood this morning and he needed to get his head clicked into the right gear. Dismissing the thoughts of his adolescent years, he punched in the code to the security lock and entered the rear of the building. Two uniformed officers were by the back stairwell, putting on their protective vests. Hunter bid them ‘Good morning,’ as he took the stairs.

Neither of them replied.

Hunter slowed his pace and with a surprised look glanced over his shoulder. He was just in time to catch their backs as they were leaving the building. Shrugging his shoulders at their lack of response, speculating that they were rushing off to a call, and therefore focussed upon that, he continued on up the stairwell. At the top he caught the sound of a raised voice back along the corridor. It was Detective Superintendent Leggate in her office. She sounded angry. Swear words littered her tirade. He slowed his pace and tried to determine if he could pick out anyone else’s voice. He couldn’t. He smiled to himself. She was either tearing someone off a strip in her office, who dare not reply, or she was on the phone. Suddenly, he remembered his own rollicking from her four days earlier. He held that thought as he entered the department.

Grace was at her desk. She snapped up her head and wide-eyed zoned in on him.

Hunter flicked back his head, ‘Someone’s coppin’ an earful this morning from Ma’am,’ he started, and quickly halted his voice when he saw Grace nodding frantically in his direction. She was staring beyond him and giving him a sign which said ‘shut the door.’ He set the door to and held on to the handle. Knitting his eyebrows, in a low voice, he asked, ‘What’s up?’

‘
Have you not heard?’

‘
Heard what?’

‘
Tom Hagan’s attempted suicide.’

‘
What?’

‘
Yeah, took an overdose. Last night. His brother found him. Apparently he popped round to see if he was alright after Tom told him about what had gone off, and that his wife’s found out and now she wants a divorce.’

Hunter dropped down onto his chair.
‘Shit.’

‘
Exactly.’

‘
Is he okay.’

‘
As far as I know, but as you can guess, the proverbial’s hit the fan.’

He flicked his head backwards towards the door.
‘And is some flack coming our way.’

Grace shrugged her shoulders.
‘The Super popped her head in just before you arrived. She said she wants to see us both the minute you got in.’

Hunter scooted his chair out from beneath his desk.
‘Well if what I’ve just heard is a sample of her temper I suggest we put a book down the back of our trousers before we go in.’ Pushing himself up he added, ‘Do you know, a few minutes ago I was in such a good mood as well.’

Detective Superintendent Dawn Leggate was slamming down the phone as Hunter and Grace stepped into her office. The door was open but Hunter rapped politely on the panel.

She lifted her head,
offered a wan smile, beckoned them in and pointed out two chairs, next to the wall, for them to take.

She set her sight on Hunter.
‘You’ve heard about DC Hagan?’

Hunter nodded,
‘Grace has just filled me in.’

‘
Professional Standards have rung me. They want to talk to you both.’ She ping-ponged her eyes between the detectives. ‘Today.’ She diverted her gaze to the phone. ‘I told them we’re up to our necks in a murder enquiry, but they insisted it had to be today.’ She huffed, ‘Apparently Tom Hagan’s DS is questioning our tactics. Thinks we could have made a better job of it.’ She threw up our hands. ‘As though it’s our fault that his wife left him and caused him to take an overdose.’ She shook her head. Her face was unusually flushed. ‘I’ve just finished with the supercilious prick on the phone. Given him a piece of my mind. I told him that what happened to DC Hagan is down to DC Hagan and not my officers. If he’d have kept his cock in his pants then he wouldn’t be in this predicament, and that if he’d have done his job properly as his supervisor, then his DC might not be looking at a charge of misconduct.’ She took a deep breath and sighed. ‘I guess he’ll want to make a complaint about me now, as well.’ She flattened her palms upon her desk and fanned out her fingers. She glanced at them for a few seconds and then returned her gaze to Hunter and Grace. With a resolute smile, she said, ‘Hey-ho, never mind. These things are sent to test us. Now let’s make sure all our bases our covered before Professional Standards get here.’

Hunter and Grace missed morning briefing. Detective Superintendent Leggate had given them the use of her office to confer notes and double-check documentation before ‘The rubber-heeled Squad,’ as all officers referred to them, arrived. Hunter already knew that the evidence, to justify the bringing in and interviewing of Tom Hagan, was good, yet nevertheless he and Grace went back over it, scrutinising their witness statements and forensic exhibits, and even checking that every report, certificate and legal instrument was correctly filled in. Hunter knew from experience that there was no room for error when under scrutiny by the ‘Discipline and Complaints Team,’ as they were normally called.

By
9.30 a.m. they had sifted through everything and talked over the likely format of their forthcoming interview. As they ended their scrum-down they met each other’s eyes and swapped tight-lipped smiles; despite their nervousness it was a reassuring look they exchanged.

A
half an hour later they were called down to the Custody Suite.

They were
to be interviewed separately. Hunter was first in.

Across the table in the
soundproofed interview room Hunter faced two smartly suited detectives, who introduced themselves as Detective Superintendent Chambers and Detective Inspector Wilson. Even though he knew he had nothing to fear he could feel himself starting to sweat, and as the DI went through the preamble of informing him that ‘he wasn’t under arrest and that he could leave the interview at any time throughout the proceedings,’ he felt a knot tighten in his stomach.

For forty minutes Hunter was questioned, though surprisingly
he felt that the nature of it was more informal than formal, and there were times when he found himself waiting for that sucker punch question. It never came. Although the two Senior Officers scrutinised the evidence of Adam Fields, and his friend on Manvers Terrace, who had placed Tom Hagan at Gemma Cooke’s house, most of the probing centred upon what his personal observations had been of the DC. Especially: ‘was there any time, either while he was interviewing him, or during his time in custody, did he express, or show any signs that he was going to commit himself harm.’

Unflinchingly, staring both Senior Officers in the face,
Hunter answered, ‘No.’

After that
the questioning was brought to a close. He was served with the customary ‘Regulation 9,’ notice of disciplinary proceedings and allowed to leave.

He left the room drained.
Mentally and physically he was exhausted. As he trudged up the stairs back to the department he could feel a headache coming on.

Hunter walked into an empty office. He checked his watch. Lunchtime. He didn
’t feel hungry. In fact, his guts were churning. And he didn’t feel like doing any work. Straightening his desk, he scribbled out two notes. He slid one across to where Grace sat, telling her he’d ring her later to see how it had gone. The second note he dropped onto DI Scaife’s blotter informing him that he was taking some time off. Then he left.

- ooOoo -