Michael Fowler - Secret of the Dead

“This is just a courtesy call. I’m currently down at the District General.” There was a pause, then she continued, “Mike’s been stabbed.”

It took a couple of seconds to sink in. Then he said. “Mike? Mike Sampson?”

“Aye.”

“When? Who?”

“About three-quarters of an hour ago. You know he and Tony were carrying out observations on Peter Blake-Hall’s club? Well it was there. We think it was Ronnie Fisher, but we ain’t sure.”

“And what about Bully? Is he okay?”

“Tony’s fine.” There was a little hesitation before she replied, “He found him.”

“Found him?”

“Long story Hunter. I’ll explain tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah. As I said, this is a courtesy call because they’re your team. I’ve called out Mark Gamble and his team to process the scene, and Tony and I are at the hospital with Mike. Uniform and CID are searching for Ronnie, and we’re bringing the job forward on Peter Blake-Hall. We’re doing it in the next couple of hours.”

“Give me twenty minutes boss, and I’ll get dressed and join you.”

“No Hunter. Everything’s sorted. I’m looking after things at the hospital and Detective Superintendent Robshaw’s turning out to coordinate the search for Ronnie Fisher and oversee the raid on Peter Blake-Hall.” There was another pause down the line, then she said, “It’s not that I don’t want you here, Hunter, or need your help, but you’ve got Alan Darbyshire to sort out tomorrow and I want you interviewing him with a clear head. I want what he’s got coming to him to stick, okay?”

Frustrated though he was at not being able to do anything, Hunter knew that what she was saying made sense. He nodded in the dark, then asked, “How is he?”

“To be honest Hunter, I don’t know. He’s lost a lot of blood, though the ambulance crew stabilised him at the scene. He’s in theatre and we’ll not know anything for the next couple of hours, at least.”

Hunter heard her sigh. With a heavy heart, he said, “So you want me and Grace in at the normal time?”

“Aye. There’s no morning briefing. I’ll leave a note for you about what’s happening, or get someone to give you a message when you get in. Detective Superintendent Robshaw will more than likely be around anyway to update you.” There was another long pause, and then she finished, “Hunter, I’m sure everything is going to be fine. You know Mike, he’s made of good old Yorkshire grit.” Then the line went dead.

Hunter hung on to the handset. The thoughts inside his head were undulating like a Mexican wave.

DAY FIFTEEN: 8th December.

Grace was already at her desk when Hunter got in at 7.30 am. He hadn’t even closed the door behind him before she said.

“You could have rung me!”

He slipped his arms out of his coat. “It was late, Grace. I didn’t want to disturb you.” He draped his coat over the back of his chair and glanced at his desk jotter, looking for a note.

“But it’s Mike.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry Grace. I know it’s Mike. But I couldn’t afford for both of us to be worried and knackered this morning. We’ve got a big job ahead of us today and I wanted one of us functioning properly.” He rummaged around his desk top, searching for a note. He turned his attention to his in-tray. There was nothing. At last, he focused on Grace. “Has anyone said anything about Mike? Do we know how he is?”

“Apparently Bully and Miss Jean Brodie are still at the hospital. He was in theatre for four hours. They’re saying he’s not out of the woods yet but he should pull through.”

Hunter smirked. “Miss Jean Brodie. Where’s that come from?”

Grace joined him in a smile. “That’s what Mike’s nicknamed the new gaffer.”

Typical of Mike, thought Hunter. Shaking, his head he made for the kettle and cups. “I’ll make us a drink before we get started on Alan Darbyshire.” He added, “Has anyone said anything else about the attack?”

“Isobel got me first thing. She said that Bully had gone for fish and chips while they were doing obs on Blake-Hall’s club, and that when he got back he found Mike collapsed and Ronnie Fisher’s four-by-four fleeing the scene.”

“Did he see Ronnie carrying out the attack?”

Grace shrugged. “I don’t think so. Isobel didn’t say, so I’m guessing he didn’t. Bully found Mike unconscious and he still hasn’t come round. Isobel says they’re keeping him sedated for at least twenty-four-hours.”

“Have they got Ronnie?”

“No, not yet. Apparently they turned out everyone and their grandmother last night, but it looks as though Ronnie’s done a runner. They’ve got Blake-Hall though. They knocked him up in the early hours. He’s downstairs in the trap.”

“Have they locked him up for the stabbing as well?”

“No, for the murder of Lucy. Apparently, Swansea e-mailed back Peter’s vehicle records. He owned a red Mercedes at the time of Lucy’s disappearance and it still carried foreign plates. He didn’t re-register it until October nineteen-eighty-three. How good is that?”

“Not good enough for a conviction.”

“Ooh, you pessimist. It’s a start though.”

Hunter shook the kettle, listened to the sound of the water sloshing around inside and then switched it on. “Anyway, do we know how badly Mike was stabbed?”

Grace’s eyes widened, “Hunter! Any stabbing is bad.”

“You know what I mean,” he said sharply, gathering together two mugs.

“Well, these are not my words, and I don’t think Mike would be too pleased if he heard, but Isobel said that he’d received four stab wounds — one to the back and three to his right side — but because of his size none of them penetrated any vital organs.” She emphasized the word ‘size’ by crooking her fingers in the air.

If it had been anyone other than a colleague, that comment would have drawn at least a smirk between them.

“So they think he’s gonna pull through?”

“That’s the latest, yes.”

Hunter swept a finger around the room. “And everyone else is out?”

“Yeah, Mark and his team are at Blake-Hall’s place with forensics and Mr Robshaw and the DI are across at District HQ in the Intelligence office. They’re running the operation from there. I think CID are helping with the search of Ronnie’s place and he and his vehicle have been circulated.”

“Well, that leaves us to do our business.” He made a tea for himself and a coffee for Grace. “We’ll have these and then crack on.”

Hunter pressed the bell by the entrance to the custody suite and when he heard the buzz of the electronic lock release, pushed open the door, stepping aside to let Grace enter first. He waited as a second inner security door opened and then made his way into the detention area.

It was pandemonium.

The Custody Sergeant was on the telephone, his back towards them. Another two phones were ringing behind the reception point. From the cell area, he could hear metal doors being repeatedly banged and a medley of raised voices drifted up towards him from the corridor. He tried to work out what was going on.

The stressed out Custody Sergeant glanced over his shoulder and greeted them. Mimicking the boy scout promise the officer stuck up two fingers, and silently mouthed the words ‘two minutes’, then returned to his phone call.

Hunter gazed at his partner. He nodded towards the cell area corridor and gave her a ‘wonder what’s going on?’ look”

She shrugged.

It was well over two minutes before the Custody Sergeant slammed down the phone. The other two phones were still ringing but he chose to ignore them.