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

wife further, he dragged himself out from beneath the duvet. The chill in the room caught him unawares and gave him goose pimples. Shivering uncontrollably he pulled himself into a stretch and set off for the bathroom.
     
    * * * * *
     
    Manvers Terrace looked every inch the crime scene by the time Detective Sergeant Hunter Kerr arrived. Half-way down the street a length of blue and white POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS tape spanned the road, barring his way: fixed between two lampposts, it performed Mexican waves on a sharp early morning breeze.
    He pulled his black Audi Quattro into the kerb, slotting it behind three liveried police vehicles, an ambulance, its strobe lights still whirling, and a CID car, all of which appeared to be in a state of abandonment rather than parked. For a few seconds he surveyed the street. The incident had already brought a cast of onlookers out from their homes to collect and gossip on the pavements. Some of them were in their dressing gowns. The majority however, had on jogging pants and T-shirts, or sweat tops; well prepared for their long-haul of gawking. Two uniformed officers, in high visibility coats, were doing their best to shepherd the separate groups into one assembly. Hunter scanned a few of the faces, wondering how many of them would willingly come forward as witnesses given the wickedness of the crime.
    Killing the engine, he reached behind and snatched his outdoor coat from off the rear seat and pushed open the door. Nudging an arm through one sleeve he stepped out onto the road and cast his steel blue eyes around the scene again. The view stretching out before him wrenched back distant memories. In his early years he had lived only two streets away, and this had been one of the neighbourhoods he had frequented, before his parents had moved to their present home. As happy childhood images tumbled around inside his head it suddenly dawned on him just how long ago that had been; he had last set foot in this terrace twenty-three years ago, when he had been thirteen years old, and although the general appearance of the two rows of red-brick Victorian houses remained very much the same, he identified a number of cosmetic changes which had given the place a much needed makeover. For one, the old concrete stanchion lamps had been replaced by modern metal ones. Recalling how the area had been one of gloom, especially during the winter months, he saw that the street was now bathed in a warm ambient light. Secondly, and more significantly, the view at the head of the two rows had changed dramatically. Where there had once been wasteland and an old dilapidated set of buildings, which had once been a brickworks company, there was now a carpet of well maintained grass. Metal bollards at regular placed intervals prevented vehicle access to the area and through it snaked a footpath towards a newly constructed industrial estate, the perimeter of which had been artistically landscaped. And though the look of the place interfered with his nostalgic memories he had to admit that it looked better like this.
    As he switched his gaze back to the onlookers, finally being corralled into one group, he wondered if any of them before him were those from his childhood years and if so would they remember him.
    The chilly breeze picked up a notch, brushing his face, blowing away the memories and snapping his thoughts back to the moment. He zipped up his padded coat, tucked his chin into his collar, dipped his hands into his pockets and made towards the cordon. Another uniformed officer, highly visible in a fluorescent jacket, guarded the barrier. Hunter recognised him, though he couldn’t recall his name, and so instead of saying something, gave him a nod of acknowledgement as he ducked beneath the tape to enter the outer cordon. As he passed by he saw the officer lift his clipboard and write upon it; Hunter knew that he’d been given the job of logging the comings and goings of everyone who visited the