Michael Fowler - Cold Death

“You say shortly after you think Samia’s body was dumped.”

Hunter wished he had chosen his words more carefully.

“I gather by that comment you do not know for certain that was what exactly happened.”

Hunter knew the solicitor had the advantage.

“These might be coincidences Sergeant Kerr, I’ll grant you that, but as you well know coincidences do not make for a case. Now unless you have any pertinent questions for my client, I suggest we finish things here…that is unless you have something more concrete?”

At that moment Hunter knew the solicitor had the upper hand. He realised it would be futile to carry on unless he wanted to reveal the information about the two men seen dumping Samia’s body and whom the team strongly felt were related to the Hassans. Hunter pushed himself back in his chair and pasted on a false smile. “Mr Hassan I am going to bring this interview to a close. We have a number of further enquiries to make especially to track down your Renault van which has been so conveniently stolen, but I’m sure that when we will find it there will be some further questions for you.”

Hunter picked up his papers and the exhibit bag and scraped back his chair. Maintaining his false smile he nodded to Tony Bullars to turn off the recording machine and then he cast Mohammed Hassan a threatening look. “In the words of The Canadian Mounted Police — we always get our man.” Then before the solicitor even had the chance to challenge he spun around and strode purposefully out of the interview room.

Closing the door behind him Hunter kept his hand firmly gripped around the handle; as if he was squeezing the very life out of it. In the corridor he turned to Tony. “Fuck, fuck, bastarding fuck.” He muttered through gritted teeth.

Tony smirked. “I gather by that outburst Hunter, that one is a tad fractious and frustrated. You could always resort to torturing him for a confession.”

His colleague’s words lightened Hunter’s mood and his mouthed creased into a smile. “Now, now Bully, you know that’s not my style.” He winked and let go of the door handle. “That smug solicitor may have won that battle but he hasn’t won the war.”

* * * * *

Hunter knew the minute he walked into the incident room that there would be an air of expectancy waiting. Half a dozen faces of the murder squad including Grace and Mike Sampson’s all stared in his direction. He raised his hands in a surrender pose. “Sorry guys I failed. No cough, no job. It’s back to the grindstone I’m afraid.”

Watching the detective’s part to continue their tasks he beckoned to Grace. Flopping down in his chair opposite her he said, “You have any joy with Mrs Hassan?”

Grace shook her head.

Hunter dropped his shoulders and sighed. “What a bummer.” He began picking at his nails as he recounted the interview to his partner. “And I’m afraid SOCO can’t help us either,” he added, “I rang Duncan Wroe ten minutes ago and he says the Hassans place is definitely not the attack site.”

“Me and Mike haven’t made any progress either,” exclaimed Grace picking up where Hunter had finished. “We couldn’t get any momentum going with her. Every time we asked a probing question she’d say she couldn’t understand what we were saying. Going through an interpreter as well as a solicitor was bloody awful.” She tried to put on a brave face. “Do you know I even tried the motherly daughter approach to empathise with her. You know, tell her what I’d do if it was my daughter and I thought my husband was responsible, but she just sat there stony-faced. The woman is a real heartless bitch. I’ll tell you what though I’ll be ready for her next time.”

Hunter nodded and examined the cuticles of his nails he had been picking. He glanced up at Grace again. “The one solid thing from this though is that it reinforces my belief that these two are guilty of some involvement in their daughter’s death. Not one of them has shown any sorrow or remorse.” Leaning forward he continued, “Unfortunately a jury won’t convict them for that. I hate to say this but we’re going to have to release them on bail.” He spread his hands flat over his blotter and pushed himself up off his desk. “Come on, no time for dwelling on our misfortunes. We owe this to Samia if nothing else. We’ve still got to find the white van. If that was used to dump Samia’s body — and my guess from Mohammed’s reaction, and comments, that it was — then it should have some forensics.” Hunter headed back towards the doors. “And we’ll also seize Mohammed’s and Jilani’s mobiles before they leave. With a bit of luck once the techies sprinkle their magic dust over them it might give us the two names of the faces from the e-fits.”

DAY TWENTY FOUR: 16th September.

Barnwell:

“I’m glad you accepted my invite,” Michael Robshaw said on a soft note and watched for a reaction as he gazed into Dawn Leggate’s hazel eyes. He noted that tonight their colour was accentuated by the application of a thin line of brown eyeliner to her bottom lashes.

He had managed to get a table at The Stables restaurant; telephoning that morning immediately after Dawn had accepted his invitation to dine. He had booked one of the tables where there was the view into the old cobbled courtyard.

As he held her gaze Michael also registered the colour of her upper eyelids as well; a dusting of two tones of brown powder to the eyelids; not too dark, not too light, and her face had a thin layering of tan foundation. He couldn’t help but think how that little bit of make-up had enhanced the prettiness of her features; she hadn’t worn any make up on her first visit to his office four days ago.

“I’m glad you invited me.” She pulled away from his gaze and lifted her wine glass. She took a sip of her chilled Pino Grigio. “You know what it’s like staying in a motel. No matter how nice they are you can’t beat your own home. It’s nice to have a friendly face to talk to.”

At that moment, for no reason, a feeling of embarrassment welled up inside him. He feared that he had stared a little too long into her eyes. He dragged back his gaze, took a swig of his beer and said, “I thought you were down here with your DS?”

“He’s gone back to Stirling to brief the team. Now that it looks as though Billy Wallace and Rab Geddes are down here, they’ve assigned me six officers to see if we can track the pair down. He’ll be back down tomorrow with the team.”

“Sorry I can only supply one officer to you, but as you know we’re up to our necks with our own murder. The person you’ve

got though is local and a good detective to boot.”

“Will they report back to DS Kerr?”

“No the officer is from our Intelligence Unit. I’ve briefed him and told him the importance that he only discusses things with your team for the moment.”

“Good. I’ll keep you up to date with everything. By the way do you think I got away with it the other day when Kerr asked me all those questions?”

“Not one bit. Hunter doesn’t miss a trick. He knows you’re hiding something just like he knows his old man is holding back.” He set down his pint. “Anyway why hasn’t Jock said something to him yet, especially after this latest incident — the severed fingers left as a warning?”

“When he came up and gave us the background to all this he said he’d like to tell his son himself and in his own time. He said he had a special relationship with him and wasn’t quite sure how to break it to him just yet. He wasn’t sure how he was going to react. I think he’s hoping we can get these guys and that will be the end of it all — but I’m afraid it will only be the beginning — they’ll want their day in court and the media circus are going to love this story. And that’s if we get to them before they get to Jock. Billy and Rab are real nasty pieces of work — pure evil. I’ve already told you how they tortured those retired detectives before they killed them. I offered to move him to somewhere safe but he said no. So I’m juggling four of the team with obs on his house and his gym. It’s not a perfect situation with those resources but we’ll try and cover as best we can and hopefully catch them. One thing is for sure, Jock is going to need as much support as possible and the sooner he tells his son the better.” She set down her glass and gently stroked her fingers through her mane of auburn rinsed ginger hair.