Hunter Hunted by Jack Gatland (best value ebook reader .TXT) 📗

‘Well, as we seem to move to your agenda, what do you want to do now?’

Anjli watched the traffic drive past, as she decided on which path to take. ‘You might not like it,’ she said.

‘And that’s supposed to entice me?’ Bullman smiled.

‘Baker’s wife committed suicide a few weeks back,’ Anjli explained. ‘They classed it as suicide, but now I’m starting to wonder.’

‘Who ran the case?’ Bullman was already looking for a taxi. Anjli shrugged.

‘Let’s go find out,’ she said.

Declan had changed back into a suit; whereas he’d worn a grey one earlier that day, now left on a train heading somewhere north, tonight he wore a navy blue pinstripe one with a white shirt and dark grey tie. He didn’t want to stand out, but he wanted to not look like someone who was deliberately hiding. His plan was to hide in plain sight, and to use Frost’s warrant card to somehow carry on the investigation.

But now he sat upstairs in a dark room, staring out across his front lawn, out at the street and the lone police car that had been watching his house for the last hour. He’d worked out that they changed cars every couple of hours, although this seemed more to keep the eyes fresh than to stick to a routine. And, once the new team took over, one officer would leave the vehicle and patrol around the block, starting down the footpath between Declan’s house and his neighbour, one that went past his house and the one that backed onto it, following around the block and returning around six minutes later. They would re-enter the vehicle and then that was that, for about twenty minutes before the other officer went for the same stroll. Where they were parked gave them an unobstructed view down the footpath, meaning that any attempt to leave the house would be seen unless he clambered over the back fence or the left-hand side one; he knew next door had wireless CCTV covering their garden too, and the chances that this was now being broadcast into the officer’s car were incredibly high. It was definitely the first thing that Declan would have done, after all.

He was trapped.

He’d been watching now for most of the evening; it was getting late, time to possibly consider sleeping. However, as much as he knew that while they were outside he was safe inside, he didn’t know how long this status quo would continue. They could re-enter at any time, or Frost or even Sutcliffe could return and if he was asleep, he’d be caught. Even if he was in the hidden study, there was a chance that Anjli could give him away, or even his daughter could accidentally mention it if they found and questioned her. No, he needed to make some kind of move tonight.

His burner phone beeped; looking at it, he saw an address in Woking had been sent to him. No message, just the details. He smiled. Trix had come through for a change. Now he just had to get there, and at the same time get in.

Gathering the small urban backpack once more, Declan filled it with things that he might need; he knew that at any second he would be forced to run, so he wore comfortable shoes in case he needed to sprint anywhere, and placed a change of clothes in the bag. In addition, he took the money from the fake book, the warrant card and the fake glasses. He didn’t know what to do with his hair; a cap wouldn’t work with the suit, so he gelled it back into a slicked back look with a different side parting, trying to match the image of Frost, hoping that with the glasses, it would suitably alter his face.

He was filling a small aluminium water bottle when his house phone rang, almost causing him to jump out of his skin. He stopped, tiptoeing into the living room. Through the window he could see the officers exiting the police vehicle; they had obviously also heard the faint noise of the phone ringing too and wanted to see if they could hear anything when the message was left. Declan moved to the kitchen door, standing in the dark, listening as the phone went to answerphone.

It was Doctor Marcos.

‘Declan,’ she said, choosing her words carefully. ‘I’m calling all known numbers and hoping this gets to you. Royal Bastard. Gallifrey. Dentist.’ The connection clicked silent, and the answerphone light flashed. Staying in the kitchen, Declan thought over the cryptic message. He knew exactly what it meant, but he hoped that anyone else that heard it would be completely baffled.

What it meant was hope.

What it meant was that Monroe was still alive.

Declan looked at his watch. It was past nine in the evening; he needed to move. He needed to get to Woking, which was a good twenty to thirty miles away and close to an hour by back roads. And to do this, he needed a car.

Luckily, he knew where he could find one.

Watching the police vehicle outside, he waited until the next walk around ended before slipping into the back garden. The last thing he wanted was to have the officer accidentally overhear him as he escaped. This done, Declan made his way quietly to the back wall, using a compost bin placed against it to help him over, dropping quietly into the back garden of his backing neighbour, Karl Schnitter. A mechanic by trade, there was every chance that Karl could find a vehicle that Declan could borrow, if he even believed him.

As it was, Karl was in the kitchen, waiting for Declan as he walked towards the house.

‘Get in before they see you,’ he whispered, letting Declan pass him. ‘I saw you enter the house earlier from my bedroom, and when you weren’t brought out in handcuffs, I knew you were still in there.’

‘I’m not a terrorist,’ Declan said, sitting at the table. Karl shrugged.

‘I know,’