Read Online Coming, Ready or Not (D.S. Hunter Kerr Book 4) by Michael Fowler - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael Fowler
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around his nose and eyes. They also learned that he had opted for the duty solicitor and was currently engaged in a privileged briefing session in an interview room.
Hunter always found himself getting wound up at this stage. This was where he knew the law prevailed but in his eyes Justice failed.
Hunter cursed beneath his breath, for he could visualise what was going on behind the closed interview room door right now. The solicitor would be explaining in detail exactly what evidence they had against him and would be advising Fields on what precise answers he should give to the easy questions and that when things got difficult to merely state ‘no comment’; it was the rules of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act, brought in to protect the Human Rights of the prisoner. In effect it prevented the police springing any surprises upon the suspect during interrogation. Hunter had done enough interviews throughout his career to know that villains were already well-schooled enough in the art of mendacity and it was his view that the last thing the guilty should be given was the protective cloak of any government legislation to help them evade prosecution.
The sudden opening of the interview room door brought Hunter back from his rumination s. He caught Grace’s eyes, flicked his head sideways and set off down the corridor. As he swept into the uncomfortably warm room he was greeted by a strong smell of stale urine. He knew where it was coming from. Adam Fields had been in the midst of taking a piss when Hunter had steamed into him and he had wet his trousers. The pungent stench had nowhere to go in the small room. Hunter crinkled up his nose and looked across the table. His eyes were met by a basilisk stare from Adam Fields, who was pointing at his own face.
‘ Are you the fucker who did this?’
Hunter saw that he was sporting two black eyes and his nose was red and swollen. Splashes of dried blood caked the front of a grey designer T-shirt. He fought back the urge to smirk.
‘ If I hadn’t done what I did, you and I might not be having this conversation. I saved you from getting shot, didn’t I?’
‘ It was a fucking replica.’
‘ A gun is a gun to a police firearm’s officer. In my book you got off quite lightly.’
Adam Fields gave a snort of derision and then winced as the pain registered in his nose. Pushing his muscle-bound frame back in his seat he folded his arms in a gesture of defiance.
Hunter placed Gemma Cooke ’s case file on the desk and seated himself opposite Fields and his solicitor.
Grace took up the spare chair, next to the tape recorder. Removing a pack of blank evidence cassette tapes from her pocket, she tore away the plastic film securing them and slotted the two tapes into the machine.
Unfastening the cuffs of his shirt, Hunter slowly rolled back the white cotton to reveal his own muscular forearms, and then rested them over the blue evidence folder, entwining his fingers.
He opened, ‘You’ve already been briefed by your solicitor?’ He looked across and caught the nod offered by Adam Fields’ legal representative. He had met this solicitor during other previous encounters with prisoners and knew that he wasn’t one who would continually interrupt proceedings so long as he stuck to the procedures. That eased Hunter’s tension. He unlocked his fingers and flipped open Gemma Cooke’s file.
Grace switched on the recording machine. A loud buzz resonated for a few seconds and then stopped, throwing the room into silence.
Hunter fractured that stillness by clearing his throat and introducing himself and Grace and followed that up by voicing the customary preamble to taped recorded interviews. He ended his opening sentence by reminding the prisoner that he was still under caution.
Adam Fields ’ pumped up arms were still clamped firmly to his chest.
With a forefinger, Hunter slipped out a written statement from amongst the paperwork and then locked eyes with Fields.
‘ Adam,
Hunter always found himself getting wound up at this stage. This was where he knew the law prevailed but in his eyes Justice failed.
Hunter cursed beneath his breath, for he could visualise what was going on behind the closed interview room door right now. The solicitor would be explaining in detail exactly what evidence they had against him and would be advising Fields on what precise answers he should give to the easy questions and that when things got difficult to merely state ‘no comment’; it was the rules of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act, brought in to protect the Human Rights of the prisoner. In effect it prevented the police springing any surprises upon the suspect during interrogation. Hunter had done enough interviews throughout his career to know that villains were already well-schooled enough in the art of mendacity and it was his view that the last thing the guilty should be given was the protective cloak of any government legislation to help them evade prosecution.
The sudden opening of the interview room door brought Hunter back from his rumination s. He caught Grace’s eyes, flicked his head sideways and set off down the corridor. As he swept into the uncomfortably warm room he was greeted by a strong smell of stale urine. He knew where it was coming from. Adam Fields had been in the midst of taking a piss when Hunter had steamed into him and he had wet his trousers. The pungent stench had nowhere to go in the small room. Hunter crinkled up his nose and looked across the table. His eyes were met by a basilisk stare from Adam Fields, who was pointing at his own face.
‘ Are you the fucker who did this?’
Hunter saw that he was sporting two black eyes and his nose was red and swollen. Splashes of dried blood caked the front of a grey designer T-shirt. He fought back the urge to smirk.
‘ If I hadn’t done what I did, you and I might not be having this conversation. I saved you from getting shot, didn’t I?’
‘ It was a fucking replica.’
‘ A gun is a gun to a police firearm’s officer. In my book you got off quite lightly.’
Adam Fields gave a snort of derision and then winced as the pain registered in his nose. Pushing his muscle-bound frame back in his seat he folded his arms in a gesture of defiance.
Hunter placed Gemma Cooke ’s case file on the desk and seated himself opposite Fields and his solicitor.
Grace took up the spare chair, next to the tape recorder. Removing a pack of blank evidence cassette tapes from her pocket, she tore away the plastic film securing them and slotted the two tapes into the machine.
Unfastening the cuffs of his shirt, Hunter slowly rolled back the white cotton to reveal his own muscular forearms, and then rested them over the blue evidence folder, entwining his fingers.
He opened, ‘You’ve already been briefed by your solicitor?’ He looked across and caught the nod offered by Adam Fields’ legal representative. He had met this solicitor during other previous encounters with prisoners and knew that he wasn’t one who would continually interrupt proceedings so long as he stuck to the procedures. That eased Hunter’s tension. He unlocked his fingers and flipped open Gemma Cooke’s file.
Grace switched on the recording machine. A loud buzz resonated for a few seconds and then stopped, throwing the room into silence.
Hunter fractured that stillness by clearing his throat and introducing himself and Grace and followed that up by voicing the customary preamble to taped recorded interviews. He ended his opening sentence by reminding the prisoner that he was still under caution.
Adam Fields ’ pumped up arms were still clamped firmly to his chest.
With a forefinger, Hunter slipped out a written statement from amongst the paperwork and then locked eyes with Fields.
‘ Adam,
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