Free Cold Death by Michael Fowler Page A

whilst reading the note on the front of the inquest file. She looked up and met his eyes and then responded with a thumbs up and “cheers” before slotting the file into her out tray.
    The morning’s briefing was a low-key affair. The HOLMES team were still checking through all last night’s calls but there appeared to be nothing new to add to what had already been uncovered. DI Scaife issued some fresh priorities but Hunter’s team still had to track down and speak with all of the park’s rangers. He checked with Grace to see if she, Mike and Tony would mind finishing off the actions without him. He made the excuse that he wanted to clear his tray, but in reality he had more personally pressing things to sort out.
    “Fine Hunter, no problem. We should be able to clear them all by late this afternoon, but do you fancy working a bit over tonight?”
    “Not really,” he hesitated. “Why is there something urgent to follow up?”
    “Not urgent as such. One of the park rangers we tracked down yesterday let something out which could lead somewhere.”
    “What’s that then?” Hunter asked leaning across his desk, resting his elbows and interweaving his fingers.
    “Apparently after the park closes the ranger told Mike that some parts which are covered by trees and bushes are used by couples in cars. They have been told by their boss that whichever one of them covers a late shift should try and discourage it because there had been complaints by a few walkers out for an evening stroll. One of them let fall in conversation that one girl in particular turns up quite regular but with different guys. They know her as Tanya and it seems she has spun them some yarn about being a Russian dancer who has fled her brutal husband and is trying to make ends meet.” Grace rolled her eyes and clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth dismissively. “It’s obvious she’s a prostitute who has found a decent spot for her clients.” She pursed her mouth. “I just thought that if she is a regular visitor that there might be a chance she might have seen something suspicious, might even have clocked who dumped the body and won’t have come forward because of what she does. I thought we could stake-out the lake for a couple of evenings, and see if she turns up.”
    Hunter unlocked his fingers and pushed himself back into his seat. “I’d love to say yes Grace but I’ve got something else planned tonight.”
    “Oh okay, sorting out your parents - I understand.”
    “In a way - just something I need to follow up that’s all.”
    Grace’s eye-brows knitted together. “That all sounds rather mysterious Hunter.”
    “That’s because it is.” He pushed himself up. “It’s top secret and if I tell you I might have to kill you.” He exaggerated his smile, tapped his nose and turned towards the door.
     
    * * * * *
     
    Hunter tracked MIT’s civilian investigator Barry Newstead to the ground floor CCTV room; the back room editing suite to be precise, where he found him going through footage from Barnwell country parks security system. He crept into the semi-darkened room silently and saw that Barry was intensely scrutinising speeded up images, which were floating across one of the small viewing screens set into a desk console. Barry looked sharply over his shoulder, acknowledged Hunter with a nod and then returned to the TV monitor.
    Hunter fondly ruffled a hand through Barry’s rumple of dark dyed hair. “How’s it going big guy?  Found anything?”
    The thickset, large bellied investigator grunted and shuffled to one side in his swivel chair, shaking his head away from Hunter’s rifling fingers. Hunter pulled up a chair and slotted himself beside his old friend and colleague.
    Hunter had a real fondness for Barry Newstead. He had met him shortly after his girlfriend’s body had been found. Barry had been one of the investigating detectives’. Early on in the enquiry he had been interviewed by him on several