Michael Fowler - Cold Death

Within twelve minutes of leaving home he was screeching into his parents’ road.

What greeted him shook him. It was mayhem.

The street was awash with police officers, and emergency vehicles of all descriptions lined the road, their whirling blue strobes dancing around, lighting the area as if it was a disco. Blue and white crime scene tape was everywhere — sealing off the approach to his mother and father’s semi and keeping neighbours back.

His stomach turned over; he knew this was the scene of a major incident.

He slewed his car into the kerb and leapt from it, leaving the driver’s door open as he launched into a sprint. He could see his parents’ house less than fifty yards away but he couldn’t get anywhere near for abandoned vehicles. A young uniformed officer was about to head him off as he dipped beneath a strand of waving incident tape. He moved aside as Hunter flashed his warrant card and raced past.

Slackening his pace, as he neared the drive, he swore he had never seen as much activity; uniformed cops, plain clothed detectives and Scenes of Crime officers were swarming all around the front of the house. Despite attending so many crime scenes this seemed so surreal; this was his old home; he had moved here when he had been twelve years old and had spent his teenage years growing up in its warm and loving environment. And this was the street where he had met Polly, who had lived four doors away and whom he had fallen madly in love with as his first girlfriend. It was here where he had first heard the news that she had been found murdered. Finally it was this place where he had made his most life-changing decision — telling his parents that he didn’t want to take up his place at university to study fine art — instead, he wanted to be a cop and catch his girlfriend’s killer.

A lot of water had flowed under the bridge since then.

He focussed his gaze as he entered the top of the drive. Much of the activity was centred at the front lounge window, which had a huge gaping hole in the double-glazing with just a few fragments of glass jutting from the frame. Two forensic officers were draping a plastic sheet over something half-inside, half-outside the window and as he rushed into the drive Hunter realised what it was. From the light coming through the gap inside his parent’s house he could clearly make out the naked shape of a gaunt lanky man through the semi-opaque sheet. This is what his mother had been in such a state over.

On the front lawn the skeletal frame of a forensic tent was in the process of being erected by SOCO; he recognised Duncan Wroe.

He spotted his boss emerging from the front door. In the hallway, behind him, stood the red-headed Scottish DCI he had spoken with ten days ago; he tried to recollect her name but suddenly his brain was mush.

“Hunter!” shouted Michael Robshaw.

Hunter’s pace had dropped to a fast-walk as he made towards them.

“What the hell is going on?” he demanded. “Who on earth’s this?” he shouted pointing towards the cadaver. “Where are my mum and dad? Are they hurt?” He machine-gunned the questions one after another in quick succession.

Detective Superintendent Robshaw held up a hand as DCI Dawn Leggate stepped over the threshold to join him.

Hunter pointed his finger towards her. “Why’s DCI Leggate here?” He’d recalled her name. “What’s she got to do with this?”

“Whoa just a minute Hunter, calm down, both your parents are okay. Shook up — but neither of them are hurt. As we speak they’re on their way to the Victim Interview Suite at Maltby police station. The FME is on route as well to check them over.”

“Who’s that?” Hunter asked again, pointing towards the naked corpse.

“Steady down Hunter and we’ll tell you.”

He watched his Superintendent glance sideways at the Scottish DCI.

She shrugged her shoulders and took a deep breath, pushing her hands into her rainproof jacket. “That’s the body of a junkie.”

“A junkie?”

The DCI nodded. “He was abducted two weeks ago near to where he lived in Glasgow.”

For a second Hunter was dumbfounded. Everything was spinning round in his head.

“What’s having the body of a druggie from Glasgow thrown through the front window of my mum and dad’s home got to do with them?” He wanted answers and he wanted them quick.

“It’s all linked to an investigation I’m involved in,” the DCI responded.

He switched his gaze between the Detective Chief Inspector and his boss. He pointed his finger at her again as if it was a weapon. “I knew you were down here for something. What’s this shit you’re hiding from me?” He asked angrily.

“That’s enough Hunter,” interjected Michael Robshaw. “Don’t say something you’ll regret later.” He took a step towards Hunter. “DCI Leggate is here under my sanction, and she and her team have actually been trying to protect your father. Now as I have already told you, your mum and dad are safe and should be at Maltby police station by now. I want you to go there with DCI Leggate and when you get there she and your dad will fill you in with everything you need to know.”

* * * * *

Given the time of night, the main roads were quiet, enabling Hunter to step on the accelerator of his Audi as he headed towards Maltby Police Station.

Beside him sat Dawn Leggate.

“The junkie’s name is Fraser Cullen. He was a snout of one of my DSs.”

Hunter was watching her out of the corner of his eyes. The DCI never took her eyes away from the windscreen.

“It’s a long story, but basically, me and my team have been investigating the murders of three retired detectives for the past month, and just over two weeks ago Fraser contacted my DS and told him he had information regarding one of the murders. Fraser gave us the names of two men who had beaten to death a retired detective in Glasgow. Ten minutes after the meeting between Fraser and my DS we got an anonymous phone call to the effect that someone had seen Fraser being bundled into a grey Ford Mondeo. We’ve been searching for him, the car, and the two men he named since that call.”

There was the mention of the grey Mondeo again, thought Hunter. The same colour and make of car that was involved in the attack on one of his uniformed colleagues, and which he had disturbed in the car park of his father’s gym yesterday.

What the fuck is going on! “I don’t get it. What’s the relevance of Fraser’s — whatever his name is — dead body being thrown through my parents’ front window? Are you saying my dad’s involved in drugs?”

“Cullen. Fraser Cullen. And no, it’s nothing to do with drugs. As I’ve said, it’s a long story, and soon you’ll be told everything. Let’s just see if you’re mum and dad are all right first. That’s the main priority. Then if your dad’s in a fit state to talk he can tell you everything. I promised him faithfully he could be the one to tell you when the time came.”

Hunter’s head was in a whirl and he was doing his best to focus on his driving. He gripped the steering wheel so tightly that a tingling sensation shot through his fingers and up into his forearms. It brought him back from the muddle his brain was desperately trying to make sense of. Glancing down at his hands he realised they had turned partially white; he realised instantly that he needed to rid himself quickly of his frustration and vexation.

He spotted the road sign for Maltby police station — the journey had flown. He flicked down the column indicator and turned left off the main road.

Pulling into a visitor’s bay he killed the engine and took a deep breath.

DCI Leggate reached across spanning her palm across Hunter’s forearm.

He stared at her.