Coming, Ready or Not (D.S. Hunter Kerr Book 4) (6 page)

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Day Three
: 20th March.

‘Heads up everyone, latest intel is that Adam Fields has acquired a gun,’ Detective Superintendent Dawn Leggate announced as she walked to the front of the room. ‘A man from the gym Adam uses, came forward late yesterday afternoon with this information.’ She halted in front of the incident board and swept her fringe to one side. ‘He hasn’t seen the gun but he’s given us the name of the guy who’s supplied it. So this raises the status of his arrest and therefore later this morning I’ve a briefing with the Tactical Support Unit. We have two new addresses to turn over and I am involving the Firearms Team in those searches. In the meantime, I am suspending our involvement in tracing him and I want everyone to make sure they have their protective vests with them at all times.’ Slowly she searched out the faces of her team. ‘I want no one taking any unnecessary risks.’ She waited a few seconds while her words sunk in and then continued, ‘Right, now to the business of the day.’ She tapped the incident board. Her manicured nails clicked on the hard surface. More details had been added to Gemma’s profile, and the timeline sequence had been extended and new witnesses added.

‘
Okay, this is what we learned yesterday.’ She began by divulging the information Hunter and Grace had acquired from PPU about the previous domestic related incidents. ‘We’ve also spoken with, and got statements from, two girlfriends she was with on the evening of the seventeenth – St Patrick’s Day – hours before her murder. Apparently a group of them caught the ten past seven train to Sheffield and visited a number of pubs and bars on Division Street. They told us that a few hours into the evening, somewhere around ten p.m., Gemma got a threatening text message to the effect that her throat was going to be cut and her house burned down. She showed everyone the message. Although it came from an unlisted number they were all of the opinion, and I include Gemma in this, that it was Adam Fields who’d sent it. The two friends say that this affected the rest of Gemma’s evening. Her mood changed. And in the last bar they visited they say that she had a row with a guy who tried to chat her up. A couple of the girls got involved and dragged Gemma away because they thought she was going to hit him. Just before midnight she told everyone that she had a stinking headache and was going to get a taxi home. One of the friends offered to share the taxi but she told them all to carry on and then left alone. Given this information some new priorities have been generated.’ Hands extended, she pressed one forefinger against the other. ‘I want the pubs and bars she went to visited to see if there is any CCTV evidence and I want it seized.’ She moved onto her middle finger. ‘And we know that some of Division Street is covered by our own cameras, so I want the footage of that area during the relevant times. With regards her mobile, we’ve recovered that and it’s on its way to the techies this morning to see if we can trace the number that text came from.’ She folded her hands. ‘One final thing before we all disappear. The Family Liaison Officer will hopefully be getting a statement today from Gemma’s parents. Until now they’ve been too upset. And we’ll be seeing the rest of her friends she was out drinking with on the evening before she was killed. I’m also generating some new actions relevant to Gemma’s lifestyle, especially relating to her job. As well as her phone I want her diary checked. I want her clients’ partners and husbands all checking against the Intel database.’

Within
the room chairs began scraping back as members of the MIT team pushed themselves away from their desks to begin the day’s work. Dawn Leggate clapped her hands and brought their attention back. ‘I want to reiterate to everyone about Adam Fields. Until I’ve briefed Firearms, any actions to arrest him are on hold.’

Driving back from Sheffield, Hunter’s BlackBerry, seated in the hands-free mounting bracket on the centre console, rang. He glanced at the screen, saw Barry Newstead’s name listed and with a nod of his head indicated for Grace to take the call.

She hit
the receive button. ‘Hi Barry, it’s Grace, Hunter’s driving.’

‘
Where are you?’ There was an exited intonation in Barry’s voice.

‘
We’re on the Parkway, just coming towards the Rotherham turn-off. We’ve been to get the CCTV footage of Division Street.’

‘
How long will it take you to get back?’

‘
Thirty minutes. Something like that.’

‘
Can you meet me in the car park at the back of the marketplace?’

With a sideways glance, Hunter met his partner
’s gaze. They exchanged puzzled looks.

Hunter piped up,
‘What for, Barry?’

‘
I don’t want to say too much over the air. It’s about our prime suspect.’

As the call ended Hunter
changed gear, floored the accelerator and swung the car into the outside lane.

They made it back to Barnwell in a little over twenty minutes. Hunter screeched into the car park at the rear of the marketplace and rocked to a halt. Today wasn’t a market day so the car park was relatively quiet and they quickly spotted one of the office pool cars tucked into a bay at the top of the large public parking area. Hunter eased off the brake and coasted to where Barry had parked.

Easing
open the door and then using it as support Barry tugged himself out from the driver’s seat and piled into the back of Hunter’s car. Beads of perspiration had formed between his hairline and brow. With a slash of his fingers he sliced them away.

‘
What’s with the cloak and dagger stuff?’ Hunter said, half turning in his seat and glancing over his shoulder.

‘
A snout of mine gave me a bell half an hour ago about Adam Fields. Asked me if I could meet him.’

‘
Have you told the gaffer?’

‘
She’s out, doing her briefing with the Firearms Team. Her phone went straight to voicemail. Anyway it’s only meeting a snout. I don’t know yet what he’s gonna tell me. All he said on the phone is that Fieldsy had rung him last night and asked him if he had a reasonably priced car, which was roadworthy.’

Hunter screwed up his forehead and offered Barry a scrutinising look.

‘My snout runs a small garage out of a lock-up next to the canal. Does up old bangers and knocks them out cheap. He’s heard that he’s on the run for murder and doesn’t want to get involved so asked me if I was interested in setting something up to catch him. Told him we might be and so he asked me if I could meet him in the pub at lunchtime.’ Barry shuffled his weight and slipped one leg out through the open rear door. Planting it firmly on the ground he heaved himself out of the car. He called back, ‘Anyway it gives us an excuse for having a pub lunch.’

Leaving their unmarked vehicles in the car park they traipsed down the hill towards Barnwell’s main shopping centre. Barry made up the rear and Hunter and Grace had to keep slowing for him to catch up. As they neared the pedestrian crossing, opposite the pub, where Barry had arranged to meet his informant, Hunter gave him a sideways glance. He noticed several bands of sweat trickling down one side of Barry’s face, collecting along his jaw line, and caught him snatching at air, breathing heavily. He studied his old colleague carefully. It was the first time Hunter had taken note of how out of shape Barry had become. Whereas he had always seen him as a big heavily made man, he had also seen him as one who had always been able to carry that weight comfortably and still be active. In fact in the past that bulk had been to his advantage. Back in Hunter’s early CID days, he had seen Barry use his big powerful fists on more than one occasion to mete out his own brand of justice. But then, that had been sixteen years ago. Now, he knew that Barry had not long had his fifty-sixth birthday and giving him a second look it seemed as if that extra weight was now telling on his health.

Th
e beeping and flashing green man dragged Hunter’s thoughts back. He stored his contemplations, about speaking with Barry about his well-being, until later, when they were alone and he changed focus. Switching brainwork he knew how important it was to capture the fugitive Adam Fields. Then they could put this investigation to bed. Rubbing his hands together vigorously in anticipation of a good outcome with this informant he stepped onto the pedestrian crossing and aimed for the pub.

The Horseshoe was a large Victorian double-fronted building on High Street.
It had always been a pub, and one which had always been a hive of activity, especially on market days. Two years previously it had been taken over by one of the decent pub chains and been completely refurbished. It now served guest beers and good meals at a reasonable price and therefore was a popular place for those who worked locally. When Barry had told him where they were meeting his informant, Hunter had to agree it was as good a place as any to meet; occasionally in the past he had walked into a pub to meet with an informant and he might as well have had a placard hung around his neck advertising he was from CID. At least in this place he knew they would be absorbed amongst the crowd of local white-collar workers.

Hunter pushed open the
glass-panelled door and let Grace and Barry through first. The pub was busy and noisy. Hunter eyed the clientele. It was as he thought – the majority of punters here were on lunch break from their place of work. Then he switched his gaze, following Barry’s eyes as he strafed the interior.

Suddenly Barry nudged Hunter
’s arm and said, ‘He’s over there,’ and broke away to his right.

Ten yards away, seated behind a table,
cradling a pint glass, which contained the dregs of a beer, was a man in blue overalls. He looked to be in his late fifties with close-cropped, grey-almost-white, hair. As they approached Hunter spotted an immediate change to the man’s expression. His face took on an agitated look. Releasing his glass, the man half-raised himself and leaned forward across the table. As they landed within earshot he rasped, ‘Barry, he’s here. Adam Fields. He turned up ten minutes ago. I couldn’t ring you.’ Barry’s informant switched his gaze, glaring out over their shoulders to a place somewhere behind them. ‘He’s just gone to the toilet,’ he nodded sharply, still staring beyond them.

Hunter spun on his heels, fixing his eyes upon
a woodgrain door signposted as leading towards the ladies and gents toilets. He grabbed hold of Barry’s coat sleeve. ‘Back me up,’ he ordered and set off swiftly across the carpeted floor. He called back over his shoulder, ‘Grace, call it in.’

The first door
Hunter shouldered took them into a tiled corridor. Behind him, he could hear Barry scurrying to catch up. Hunter spied that the gents was through a second door to the right. As he reached it he slowed his pace, took in a deep breath and palmed it open slowly. Immediately, to his left, were three hand basins and above them, fixed to the wall, was a bank of mirrors. In their reflection he saw man-mountain Adam Fields. He was standing in front of a urinal and he appeared to be in the middle of taking a piss. Apart from Fields the room was empty. Balling and squeezing his right hand into a tight fist, Hunter rocked back on his heels, took in another deep breath and launched himself through the door.

Swinging his arm
back beyond his waist and putting all of his weight behind it he arced it forwards. Adam Fields didn’t have time to react. The targeted punch thumped into the region over his right kidney, felling him at his knees and propelling him forwards, causing his groin to collide with the porcelain urinal. He let out a deep agonising cry. In another swift movement Hunter lashed in his right foot and swept Fields’ feet from beneath him. The momentum sent him sideways, crashing his head against another urinal. He was unconscious even before his face collided with the tiled floor. As Adam Fields hit the deck Hunter caught a flash of something fly out from the rear waistband of Fields’ jeans and heard the distinct rattle of metal ring against porcelain. Quickly diverting his eyes he sought out the cause of the clattering sound.

From behind him Barry appeared, gasping and clawing for air.
Red-faced he pointed to an object resting against tiled skirting. ‘Fucking hell!’

It
immediately dawned on Hunter what Barry was pointing at; the metallic, satin finished object was a handgun. He thought its shape resembled that of a Glock semi-automatic. Spinning his blue eyes away from the shooter he settled them on his prisoner’s prostrate figure. Blood was frothing from his mouth and nose.

Barry rested his arms on his hips, dropped his head
onto his chest and filled his cheeks. Exhaling loudly, he said, ‘I can’t fucking believe you’ve just done that.’

‘
Neither can I.’

‘
Remind me never to back you up again. I’m getting too old for this lark.’ Shaking his head, Barry added, ‘Do you know, you’re fucking crazier than I used to be. I mean I took chances, but never with an armed man.’

Hunter
’s eyes rested back on the gun. He could feel the rush of adrenalin bolting through him, but this wasn’t a roller-coaster surge of adrenalin. This one made him shake. Suddenly he felt sick.

Detective Superintendent Dawn Leggate leaned halfway across her desk, supporting herself on her hands. Her face was thrust forwards and it had a thunderous look.