Michael Fowler - Cold Death

Phone calls to the UK Border and Immigration Control, and the British Embassy in Lahore had confirmed that no air ticket had been purchased in Samia Hassan’s name; there was no record of her passing through Immigration Control in the UK, or of her arriving at Allama Iqbal International Airport in Lahore.

On a local level they had tracked down and interviewed several more friends and acquaintances of Samia through her Facebook site. They had reinforced many facts they already knew; the attack on Dr Woolfe, the burglary and damage to the flat, and Samia’s fear of a forced marriage, and they had also determined that no one had spoken with her since the twenty-ninth of July. Presently they were tracking down the police officers who had turned out to those incidents in the hope that one of them might just have recorded the name of Samia’s cousins who had been implicated.

Hunter knew it was a long shot.

Civilian Investigator Barry Newstead had been assigned to Meadowhall to liase with the police and security team based there in order to gain access and view CCTV footage. Nahida had been able to provide the times, dates and the exact place where she had met with Samia and he had been given the job of locating all that footage and check if anything could be of help to the enquiry.

There had been a meeting with Duncan Wroe from Scenes of Crime and his counterpart from The Forensics Science team, and Task Force had been booked for that Sunday to execute a warrant at the Hassans shop and residence.

Things were coming to a head Hunter mused as he looked up from his desk and viewed the work in progress indicated upon the incident white board. Long lists of actions and names had now been added to the timeline. In big red capitals ‘MOHAMMED HASSAN; JILANI HASSAN and SAMIA’s COUSINS?’ had been ringed as the main suspects.

As he re-checked the incident board he knew that everything was taking shape, especially as the raid at the Hassan’s was in two day’s time.

“Who’s the redhead with the gaffer?” asked Tony Bullars pushing through the doors into the office.

His entrance brought Hunter back from his thoughts. He unlocked his fingers and came out of his stretch. “Redhead?” he asked.

“Yeah, good looking, late thirties. I’ve just come past the office and they seem to be thick-as-thieves together. The door was open and she sounded Scottish — like your mum and dad.” He dropped some paperwork in front of Hunter. “That’s the operational order and the warrant for this weekend’s raid at the Hassan’s. The magistrate asked me a few questions but nothing I couldn’t handle. I just flashed my bestest smile at her and she signed it up.”

Hunter smirked. Tony had always been a ladies’ man for as long as he’d known him. Tall and slim, blue grey eyes, chiselled facial features, gelled and styled light brown hair and always immaculately dressed. He was twenty eight years old, still single and he was a charmer. In fact Hunter couldn’t recall there being a time when he’d ever met him in the pub twice with the same girl. He glanced quickly at the warrant lying on his desk then back up at Tony. “Bully, don’t give me half a story. What do you mean good looking redhead, Scottish accent, in with the gaffer?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I smell cop — and senior cop at that.” He tapped his nose and turned away. “Get you a cuppa?” he shouted back making for the office kettle.

Hunter’s head was suddenly elsewhere, especially with everything that had gone on with his father. His recent discovery that the offenders who had been arrested in the car which had run his parents off the road were from one of the sink estates near Glasgow came to mind. He had managed to track down the officer in the case from North Yorkshire only to have been told that he had handed over the paperwork to a female DCI up in Stirling. After several phone calls he had finally managed to determine who the Detective Chief Inspector was and he had left four messages for her, none of which had been returned. Over the last few days whenever he had thought about it he couldn’t help but sense that he was being deliberately kept out of the loop.

He rubbed his chin and pondered whether this was the DCI who was running his father’s investigation. Well there was only one way to find out.

He picked up the signed magistrate’s warrant for the Hassans. It was a good excuse to get a foot in the door.

He made his way down the corridor and could spotted that the Detective Superintendent’s door was ajar. He slowed his pace and strained his ears hoping to pick up some of the conversation. A woman’s voice drifted out. Definitely Scottish, though he couldn’t make out what she was saying. He paused at the door for a second then rapped.

“Come in”

Hunter entered Michael Robshaw’s office. The redheaded female was in one of the comfy armchairs in the office looking relaxed. She glanced up at him and flashed a smile. He remembered what Tony Bullars had said. She certainly was attractive and looked to be in her late thirties. She was wearing a well-tailored dark blue trouser suit over a white cotton blouse. A visitor’s badge had been clipped to her jacket breast pocket; he couldn’t make out the name. A folder lay open across her lap. He drifted his gaze and tried to get a glimpse of it. She snapped it shut as if she knew what he was doing.

He flashed a false smile to her, nodded and turned to his SIO. “Got the Op order and warrant for the Hassans this Sunday boss.” He held out the documents.

“Okay Hunter.” He reached across and took the paperwork, gave it a quick once-over and then dropped it onto his jotter. “I gather no problems with it.”

Hunter shook his head.

“Smashing. Everything is in place as well?”

He nodded again.

“Right thanks for that, tell everyone briefing’s at seven thirty am Sunday.”

It felt like he was being dismissed. He turned to the redhead. “I couldn’t help but notice your Scottish accent. My dad’s from Glasgow.” That was a good opener.

“Oh yes — yes. I’m from Stirling.”

“This is DCI Leggate,” interjected Det Supt. Robshaw.

“Not DCI Dawn Leggate?”

“Yes,” she responded, sounding surprised.

“I’ve been trying to track you down for the past few days. I was told by North Yorkshire Police that you’d taken over the job investigating my parents’ hit and run. Apparently you’ve arrested two for it.”

“Oh yes — yes of course. You’re Hunter Kerr?”

Her voice seemed hesitant to Hunter.

“Have they been charged?”

“Has your father not said anything to you?”

“No I didn’t know if he knew or not. It’s been like getting blood from a stone just lately.”

“Well things have been discussed with him. He knows where we are in our enquiry.”

“Can you tell me then?”

“Well — er.”

For a second Hunter thought she appeared flustered.

“You should know better than that. Confidentiality DS Kerr.”

“But this is different. I’m a cop.”

“So you should be even more aware then. I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything. It’s an ongoing investigation. I suggest you speak with your father.” Her return was abrupt.

“Sorry to interrupt Hunter but I have a few things to discuss with DCI Leggate,” Detective Superintendent Robshaw interposed. “If you could excuse us.”

Hunter knew from their reaction that there was something more to this but he was being dismissed.

“And if you could close the door behind you Hunter? Thank You,” added Michael Robshaw.

* * * * *

Hunter sank into his armchair and rested his eyes. He felt drained and had a thumping head and the TV was interfering with his thoughts; everything was spinning around in his head. He heard the patter of Beth’s slippered feet come down the stairs and enter the lounge; she had just tucked up Jonathan and Daniel in their beds. He snapped open his eyes.