domestic violence. Four days ago, Adam was arrested on suspicion of assault upon Gemma, and all I know at the moment, from our system, is that he was given police bail to his parents’ address. Uniform have been to that address this morning and carried out a thorough search. He wasn’t there and his parents have told us that they haven’t seen him since the day of his arrest. Apparently he never stayed there like he should have done. He told them he was going to stay at a friend’s house, but he didn’t say which friend.’ She pulled away her hand and swept her eyes around the room again. ‘I have drawn up a list of priorities but the main focus of the day is the capture of this ugly-looking heap of shite. And as an incentive, I have a bottle of Scotland’s finest which I will donate to the one who locks him up before the day is out.’
By 8.00 p.m. Hunter was battling with tiredness. His head was thumping and he was sapped of energy. Sitting at his desk, cupped hands supporting his head, Hunter watched through eyelids that felt as if they were loaded with lead, as Dawn Leggate gave the evening debrief. He knew that she’d been going as long as he and was amazed at how fresh she still looked as she addressed the squad.
The day had been frantic. The team hadn’t drawn breath while pulling out all the stops to locate Adam Fields, but they had failed in their task. Now the SIO was reeling off a long list of actions which she wanted prioritising for the following day.
H unter tried to retain and store her words but he was struggling. His brain was as exhausted as his body. He made a few notes, to aid his memory, but when he checked them the words were disjointed. As the SIO called it a day Hunter picked up the notes and dropped them in his in tray. He couldn’t even be bothered to tidy up his desk before he left.
Driving home, he had both driver and passenger window open and willed himself to stay awake. As he pulled into his drive he noticed his home was in darkness. Then he remembered the earlier text his wife, Beth, had sent. She was taking Jonathan and Daniel to the cinema that evening. She had signed it off with a couple of kisses, which had given him reassurance that she wasn’t mad with him for breaking his promise to be with them.
Selfishly, Hunter heaved a grateful sigh. Though he deeply loved their company, right now all he wanted was peace and his own space.
He entered the house, switched on the hall light, keyed in the alarm code to deactivate it and trudged through to the kitchen. In the fridge he found a plate of cold spaghetti bolognese, cling-filmed. Microwave ready. He ignored it. He was even too tired to eat. Instead he picked a bottle of beer from the top shelf, screwed off the top and took a long gulp. It had an instant refreshing effect. He closed his eyes trying to reflect on the long day. The only thing flashing behind his eyelids was that image of the bloodied handprint upon the fridge door. He snapped open his eyes, stared at the bottle of beer for a few seconds and once more fixed it to his lips. He downed it in one and then dropped the empty bottle into the re-cycling bin. Leaving the kitchen he lazily climbed the stairs, needing the banister to haul up his muscle-weary body. In the bedroom he stripped off, draping his suit over the back of the chair by the dressing table and dropped the rest of his clothes into the wash basket. Then he made for the bathroom and climbed into the shower. He stayed longer than normal, leaning his head back, letting the warm jets of water play over his face. Drying himself vigorously he wrapped the towel around his waist and padded to the bedroom. He dropped backwards onto his inviting bed and laid back his head. The soft duvet and pillow moulded around him. For a few seconds he dragged his eyes around the ceiling. Slowly he found that his focus was blurring.
I ’ll just close them for a few minutes, until Beth and the boys get back.
He never heard
Vasilievich G Nikolai Vasilievich Gogol