Hurst could not sleep. The case was not going well and he was no further forward in solving the murder of Hazel Harlow. He was convinced there was a connection between the death of Jennifer Brookes and Hazel Harlow but for the moment it escaped him. Getting up at two he made his way to the kitchen ensuring he did not disturb anyone. He made a cup of tea and pulled up a stool and sat at the breakfast bar. As the hot liquid slid down his throat he pictured both father’s and was surprised how grief affected them in different ways.
He was sure one of them was either the killer or knew who did it. The proving would be the hard part. Hurst checked the kitchen clock it was nearly three. He decided to change and go to the station.
He walked into his office and noticed something was out of place. It took him a split second to realise the forensic bag with the gloves was not where he left it.
‘Sergeant,’ he said into the telephone receiver, ‘get yourself down here now.’ His tone of voice was one that everyone obeyed without question.
Heavy footsteps hurrying along the corridor stopped outside Hurst’s office; a knock at the door and the sergeant entered.
‘Something wrong sir?’ enquired the officer.
‘The gloves?’
‘Gloves sir?’
‘The gloves I left on my desk! Where are they?’ shouted Hurst getting irritated.
‘What gloves?’ said the officer somewhat perplexed.
‘I’ll have your stripes for this. I left a forensic bag on my desk containing a pair of gloves found at the crime scene. They have disappeared. Now where the hell are they?’ The crescendo of his voice had brought a couple of other officers hurrying down the corridor and they now stood in the doorway.
Hurst loved an audience, ‘What are you all staring at? Haven’t you got work to do? For the last time sergeant where is the bag?’
The sergeant raised his index finger and pointed to a mound of paper on the corner of Hurst’s desk a forensic bag was poking out from the middle of the pile. Hurst followed his finger and retrieved the bag.
‘Get out!’ he roared.