Detective Inspector Kay Hunter eased her car to a standstill behind a faded grey panel van, eyes widening at the scene beyond her windscreen.
Flashing blue lights strobed across the night sky from three Kent Police vehicles splayed across the gravel, their rooftop LEDs reflecting off the branches of a horse chestnut tree that leaned at a precarious angle in one corner of the car park and then filtered across the façade of the downtrodden pub.
Shadows merged as one between the lights – lumbering figures in protective coveralls with heads bowed at the perimeter of the property, and taller silhouettes that weaved between them while gripping assault rifles.
The radio clipped to the plastic dashboard holder beside Kay squawked with activity as commands were issued back and forth, devoid of all emotion, while her superiors coordinated the manhunt from their Northfleet headquarters.
Access along the lane behind her had been blocked by uniformed constables and as she climbed from her car, a tactical officer in full body armour crossed to where a liveried armed response vehicle had been abandoned in haste.
His colleagues moved out of the shadows and towards an inner cordon, the blue and white tape stretched across the car park separating the vehicles from the pub’s weather-beaten front door.
Light pooled out from the opening, the people milling about inside visible through the grime-laden windowpanes.
The tactical officer’s gloved hands cradled his semi-automatic rifle with a casualness belying the uniformed presence around her, and he nodded in recognition as she loosened a cotton elastic over her wristwatch and tied back her hair.
‘Evening, guv.’
‘Are you okay for me to proceed?’
‘We declared the scene safe twenty minutes ago, and we’ve allowed forensics access to the body. We’re all done here. The shooter made a run for it, and the bloke who copped it isn’t going anywhere. Not now.’
She bit back a grimace. ‘How bad is it?’
‘Put it this way, he ain’t going to be winning any beauty contests.’
‘What’s the latest on the shooter?’
‘There are roadblocks being established on all major routes, but that’s all I know at the moment. We’ve checked the immediate area and confirmed he’s nowhere to be found. All of the outbuildings and nearby houses are clear.’
‘Who’s in charge of the scene here?’
He jerked his head towards the cordon. ‘Paul Disher. He’s the tall bloke standing over there next to the pathologist.’
‘Thanks.’
Raising her hand to shield her eyes from the glare of the strobing lights, Kay hurried across the uneven gravel, unwilling to waste another second.
She paused when she reached the first cordon.
A crumpled form lay beyond the plastic tape, a man’s body splayed out across the dirt and stones on his stomach with his face turned away from her, his arms outstretched as if trying to break his fall.
As the emergency lights ebbed around him, his dark-coloured clothing alternating in hue, the questions already started to form in her mind.
‘Detective Inspector Hunter?’
Kay turned her attention away from the victim to see a tall sergeant in his forties heading towards her. ‘You must be Paul Disher.’
He nodded in response, the bulk of his armoured vest hiding his uniform. ‘I’m leading the tactical team. Your colleague got here a moment ago – he headed straight inside the pub.’
‘Sounds like Barnes to me.’ Kay gave a faint smile, then jerked her chin towards the broken man on the floor. ‘What can you tell me so far?’
Disher took a set of protective coveralls from a junior officer before passing them to Kay, reaching out to steady her with his hand while she tugged on the matching booties.
‘The landlord, Len Simpson, said this bloke and an older one were in the pub before the shooting,’ he explained, lifting the cordon while she ducked underneath. ‘He says he’s never seen either of them before, and that they were arguing. Not loudly, but enough that anyone close by could see it wasn’t a friendly conversation.’
‘Was there a fight?’ Kay fell into step beside Disher and followed him across to where the man’s body lay.
‘Not inside the pub. Simpson says the two men were among the last to leave, along with a group of four of his regulars and a local couple. With Simpson at the time was Lydia Terry, who works for him, and her husband Martin. The first shot was fired between five and ten minutes after all the customers had left.’
Kay circled the dead man, her gaze sweeping over the fingernails, bitten to the quick and crusted with dirt, the worn shoe soles, and then––
‘Jesus.’
She blinked, then forced herself to move closer.
What was left of the man’s face was little more than a pair of eyebrows that seemed surprised to find the rest of his features missing.
A bloody mass replaced what had been eyes, a mouth and nose, and when she lowered her gaze to his chest, another gaping wound glistened in the poor light.
‘Don’t ask which one was first, I won’t know for sure until I get him back to mine.’
She straightened at the voice to see the Home Office pathologist Lucas Anderson returning to the cordon, his face grim.
‘Suffice to say, he was trying to run away when he was shot – those are the exit wounds you’re looking at,’ he added.
A pair of younger men unfolded a gurney and rolled it to one side out of the way, awaiting further orders.
‘One in his spine to stop him, the head shot next?’ she suggested.
Lucas waggled a gloved finger at her. ‘Possibly, but that’s all you’re getting out of me at the moment. I’ll get the post mortem done within the next forty-eight hours for you.’
She gave him a curt nod, then turned back to the sergeant.
‘Any identification?’
‘There wasn’t anything in his pockets, but there’s a cheap-looking watch on his left wrist. He isn’t wearing a wedding ring, either.’
‘There’s no sign of any rings having been removed from his fingers,’ said Lucas, crouching beside the dead man and sweeping his torch over his hands.
‘What about the clothing?’ said Kay. ‘Does that match what the younger bloke was wearing who Len Simpson saw earlier?’
‘Barnes showed him some photos on his phone, and he reckons it’s the same bloke,’ said Disher.
Kay straightened, patted Lucas on the back before he turned to his two assistants, then walked with the sergeant back to the cordon.
‘All right, thanks Paul. Good work getting this under control tonight. I’ll take over the scene now so you can catch up with the rest of your team in case the shooter’s located. Do you think you could attend the briefing tomorrow? I’d like you to be on hand to help me coordinate any arrest once we’ve identified who the shooter is.’
‘Will do, guv.’
‘Thanks.’
Stripping off the protective suit, gasping for fresh air as she tore away the hood from her hair, Kay scrunched the whole lot up and shoved it into a biohazard bin set up by the CSIs at the perimeter, then turned at a familiar shout.
Detective Sergeant Ian Barnes hurried towards her, suit jacket flapping under his arms as he side-stepped a pair of constables to reach her.
‘Evening, guv.’ He wrinkled his nose when he peered over her shoulder. ‘Did you take a look?’
‘I did, yes. Not pretty, is it?’
‘I can’t remember the last time we had a shooting incident to deal with.’
‘It’s been a while.’ Turning her attention to the pub, she saw three pale faces at one of the lower windows, their features blurred by the grime across the panes. ‘And I suppose nobody saw anything?’
Her sergeant managed a wan smile. ‘Even so, I’m sure you’ll want a word.’
Kay set her shoulders, then nodded. ‘Damn right I do.’