Black & Blue: Where it all began…… (D.S Hunter Kerr) by Michael Fowler Page B

funny. It was scary. We were only sixteen - seventeen.”
    “Who interviewed you?”
    “A Detective Newstead. Barry Newstead.”
    His mentor gave off another snort. “I know Barry. I can imagine he gave you a bit of a hard time.”
    “Not many. Have you ever been a suspect?”
    “Not in a murder. I’ve been interviewed a few times by The Rubber-heeled Squad when prisoners have made complaints. That wasn’t much fun I can tell you. Anyway, you’re here now and in the job and you’ve got yourself some focus. Hopefully you’ll be able to keep your promise to her parents.”
    Silence passed between them for the best part of a minute then Roger said soft ly. “It may not be any consolation, but I’ve lost some good friends over the years, especially when I was in Northern Ireland, and although I never forget them, it does get easier with time.” Then his voice took on a more serious note, “The other thing Hunter is you mustn’t let it get to you. Dealing with death is something we do on a regular basis in this job. If after your first couple of deaths you’re struggling, then this is not the job for you.”
    Hunter turned and met Roger’s gaze.
    Cracking a smile Roger said, “Anyway, young Kerr, enough of my pearls of wisdom, time to shake a few door handles.” Stepping out onto the wet footpath he added, “I’ll check this side, you check opposite.”
    Splitting up, Hunter watched his colleague look into shop fronts and twist several door handles before disappearing into a side alley. It was at this stage he thought that the street was a little spooky with its long gaps between lamps and no activity around.
    Shadows appeared to take on a life of their own.
    Hunter approached each door with caution, suspicion aroused with every unusual sound, and by the time he had entered his first alleyway his senses had sharpened to a knife-edge.
    Torch on , he flicked the beam at tangents, picking out every shape as he trod gingerly towards the rear of the shops. Before him he caught sight of piles of boxes and kicked out at them as he went. The leaping of a fleeing cat caused his heart to flutter and he was still shaking when he appeared at the end of the row where a straight-backed and rigid Roger Mills was waiting.
    ”Everything Okay?” he enquired.
    Hunter fiddled with his maglite torch, trying to turn it off. He nodded.
    “Right, snap-time then.” Roger’s quick footfall caught Hunter unawares and he shuffled double-time to catch him up.
     
    * * * * *
     
    Hunter’s stomach felt uncomfortable as he set off out on his second tour of duty. It had felt strange eating a microwave meal in the early hours of the morning – especially when sober. The re-checking of doors and alleyways brought on a second bout of nervousness followed by indigestion, and he vowed that his food choice for the remainder of the week would consist only of light snacks.
    The bloated feeling left him when his radio crackled into life. The operator’s voice had some urgency, and as her message tailed off he felt a nudge in his side.
    “Come on, young Kerr, someone’s fallen in the ponds. We’re the nearest.”
    Picking up his pace Hunter followed close to his tutor’s heels, though he found himself overtaking as they neared the location.
    Turning the corner of a row of terraces Hunter entered the dirt track which led to the fishing ponds and he caught his first sight of the black water shimmering under the clouded moon. He put in a burst and heard Roger’s panting breath falling back. Within seconds he had a full view of the fishing lakes layout and urgently scanned the rippling surface. It didn’t take him long to spy the darkened shape, arms outstretched, floating away from the banking. The figure was inactive and Hunter’s mind began to whirl as an uneasy, yet excited feeling, began to envelop him. Glancing backwards he saw Roger at least a hundred yards away.
    “Go on Hunter,” Mills shouted. “I’ll call for back