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“Bloody hell that hurt,” he cried out as he clutched his upper torso and pushed himself back into the bed. “What happened son?”

Hunter recounted the incident, the silver BMW ramming the car and how they somersaulted across the moorland. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

“Some accident, eh?”

“That was no accident dad. The BMW deliberately rammed you.” Hunter pushed himself upright. “Was this to do with that guy you were arguing with this morning?”

He saw his father tense. “I’ve already told you what that was about. Leave it,” he snapped.

“Look you and mum were nearly killed today, if that guy was involved then I’ll find out.”

“And I said just leave it. I’ll sort this once I get out of here.”

“Dad you’re in no state to sort anything out. Leave me to deal with it. That’s what I get paid to do. That’s my job.”

“Just leave it son.”

“I can’t. Now why don’t you tell me what that was all about this morning? It’s too much of a coincidence that what happened to you was only a couple of hours after you’ve dumped a guy on his backside. What are you hiding dad?”

“Nothing,” he snapped again. “Just leave it I said.”

Hunter saw his dad suddenly pale. He dropped back onto his pillow. His face glistened with sweat.

Hunter raised himself from the chair. “Do you need me to get a nurse?”

“I could do with a couple of painkillers. I hurt all over.” He closed his eyes.

In that instance Hunter thought his father looked tired and drawn; there was almost a look of frailty about him.

He left the room and made for the nurse’s station. As he was speaking with a staff nurse, asking for extra painkillers, his mobile rang. He’d switched it to silent because of the hospital rules and it was vibrating in his pocket.

He quickly fished it out and viewed the screen; it was his work partner Grace Marshall calling. He’d been trying on and off for most of the afternoon to get hold of her. Slotting the mobile to his ear and opening up the call he used facial expressions and a hand signal to the nurse that he needed to take the call and he shot away from the nurse’s work station and bounded along the corridor.

“Hi Grace,” he answered pushing through the double doors and exiting the ward. He came to a halt in the corridor. “I’ve been ringing you most of the day and all I’ve been getting is your voicemail.” He didn’t wait for her to reply. “Listen I need a favour.”

Hunter narrated what had happened. How he had seen his father arguing with the bald headed man that morning and then the lunchtime incident when his parents car had been deliberately run off the road. “We only managed to get a part index and I’ve given that to North Yorks police, but I could do with someone following it up.” He paused for breath. “Grace, do you remember a few weeks ago when we dealt with Steve Paynton?”

He was trying to visualise the reaction on her face. It had been Grace who had found the photographs, hidden behind a bath panel, during the search of Paynton’s home; undraped images of pre-pubescent children. He had seen how it had disgusted her.

“Well do you remember I had a run in with his two brothers and a cousin shortly after we got him remanded. Well I think they might have something to do with this. I think the Paynton’s might be trying to get back at me through my parents, but my dad won’t tell me anything. Could you do me a favour and just find out where the Payntons were today and see if they have access to a silver BMW. It’ll have some nearside damage to it.”

“Hunter I can’t.”

He listened as she excitedly related over the line what she was currently occupied with. In the glass panel of one of the doors he had exited by he caught his ghost-like image. His facial expression was one of disappointment and he was glad she couldn’t see him. As she finished he composed himself.

“A real baptism of fire eh? Good for you. Okay Grace, don’t worry. I can see you’re going to have your hands full and it sounds as though you’ve got it all well under control. Listen I’m going to be up here for another couple of days until they release my parents. You crack on and I’ll ring you daily so that you can update me.” He ended the call sounding bright but deep down he was agitated. He needed someone to do some discreet and maybe underhand digging for him. Someone whom he knew he could trust and Grace had been his best hope. At that moment someone else sprang to mind; someone whom he knew always got a result. Hunter checked his mobile contacts, selected the name he wanted and began to make the call.

CHAPTER TWO

DAY TWO: 25th August.

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Coruscating light forced its way through the thin fabric of the closed blinds and the smell of fresh furniture polish greeted Grace as she breezed into the MIT office. Judging by its freshness she must have missed Angie the cleaner only by minutes she thought to herself as she swished open the blinds. That was a pity because she loved having girlie chats with Angie; she knew all the building’s gossip, especially the real juicy stuff; who was having an affair with whom.

Shrugging off her jacket and draping it over the back of her swivel seat she pulled a large file from the top of her tray and opened it up on her desk blotter. She fired-up her computer and dropped into her chair.

She had got into work early; in the absence of Hunter she had the responsibility of pulling together the inquest file of ‘The Dearne Valley Demon,’ and she wanted to make in-roads into its completion before things got manic when the new investigation got underway that morning.

For a few seconds whilst waiting for the programme to load, her mind wandered — mulling once more over the events of the 12th August, and she felt her chest beginning to tighten. As the blood pounded somewhere inside her head, causing a rushing sensation in her ears, she took several deep breaths in an attempt to retake control. She felt sick in the pit of her stomach. She hated the sensation these attacks brought and wondered if they would ever go away.

‘This isn’t fair. I want my life back.’

After just a couple of deep breaths she could feel the tight band across her chest slacken. She steadied herself and left-clicked the computer mouse, opening up the document folder titled ‘Inquest doc.’ She’d already drafted most of it and she speed-read back over the summary to the point where she had ended the report the previous day. Closing her eyes she thought about the final points she needed to add. Less than a minute later she snapped open her eyelids, scanned the screen again, flicked the cursor to the point where she needed to pick up, clicked her mouse and began typing.

* * * * *

Footfalls along the corridor outside the department broke into her deep concentration. She glanced at her watch; the last hour had flown. The first detectives were beginning to filter into the office. With the opening of the doors a new aroma assaulted her nostrils; the greasy smell of bacon sandwiches from the canteen. Her stomach rumbled and she realised how hungry she was; she had given breakfast a miss at home that morning.

Mike Sampson and Tony Bullars, her team members, were amongst the first in. She acknowledged them with a smile and a nod. Mike was making for the office kettle. He stopped in mid-stride catching Grace’s gaze and mimed the act of pouring a cup into his mouth, silently mouthing the words ‘want one?’ She nodded gratefully and began bundling up her papers. Less than a minute later Mike was clonking down a mug of freshly brewed coffee in front of her as she was closing down her computer. She caught sight of his cheery well-rounded face. “Right let’s get ready for briefing” she announced more to herself than to Mike and saved the file before closing down the computer.

Detective Superintendent Michael Robshaw had the role of SIO again. He stood in front of the incident boards flicking through the notes belonging to DI Scaife. He peered over the top of his spectacles and swelled his muscular chest straining his crisp white shirt. Grace knew that the Superintendent was a man who regularly maintained his fitness; she knew that like Hunter he worked out regularly despite his workload. Snapping the journal shut he cleared his throat.