The Black Isle

by Ed James

  ‘By running from the cops?’

  ‘Well, exactly. There’s a lot of doubt and hardly any benefit. But I don’t know… I mean, he’s always been a shady git. Always up to his hooky little tricks. But running from the cops? That’s extreme, even for him.’

  ‘Maybe he thinks we’ll slow down his search?’

  ‘But I found Keith before he knew.’

  ‘Just before Scott and Crystal turned up, though.’ Chantal turned away from the window. ‘We had intel that Shug was in Inverness. Dead end, though. Hence Cullen and Methven hanging around and trying to blame each other. Your phone call was a bolt from the blue. Saved both their arses.’

  Always the way. Hunter took another look around the room. ‘Come on, he’s not here.’ He left the room and locked the door behind Chantal. Then followed her downstairs.

  Hunter stepped out into the cold again. The sun had slipped below the horizon and the sea breeze had picked up, flinging a discarded newspaper around the turning space. He unlocked the Passat but didn’t get in.

  The assumption that Jock would return to the hotel had fallen apart. Hunter had no clue as to where he was or any idea why he’d run from the cops.

  Hunter couldn’t help but shake his head. ‘I just want to find my brother.’ His throat felt tight as he dialled Fiona’s number.

  And Jock actually answered. Sounded like he was driving, but the engine was that bit louder and that bit further away. Given Hunter was resting against his car, that was yet another mystery. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Son, I need to lie low for a bit, okay?’ Click and he was gone.

  ‘Bastard hung up on me.’ Hunter tried again, but it went straight to voicemail. He opened the car and got in, slamming the door behind him.

  Chantal sat on the passenger seat like she was at a crime scene. Up ahead, the local service bus trundled down the road from Fortrose, headlights on, a few passengers standing to get off. ‘He’s a bloody depraved pervert and…’ She nudged his arm. ‘Why aren’t you listening to me?’

  ‘Got an idea.’ Hunter put the car in gear and drove off, pulling up outside the pizza restaurant, with a good view of the square outside the hotel and across the beach. He dialled a number. It was answered. ‘Elvis, need you to ping a number for me.’

  ‘I’m not just here for the nasty things in life like a blocked drain…’

  Hunter read out Jock’s number.

  ‘Right. Got it. He’s moving fast, slipping between cell towers like nobody’s business.’

  ‘Knew it. He’s on the bus. Where is he?’

  ‘Just by Cromarty. Tell you, the brewery there is top notch.’

  ‘Thanks, mate.’ Hunter killed the call. ‘Come on.’ He got out and set off back to the hotel.

  One last look and the place was still quiet and dark, but the dim lights of a bus in the distance. He let Chantal go first and followed her, waiting by the window and peering out.

  A man hopped off the bus and bounded over to the hotel. He jogged towards the building and shot up the steps, slowing as he neared the top. Hunter stepped over to the doorway and waited at the side.

  Jock blundered through, unfolding his keys and scowling.

  Hunter grabbed his shoulder, spun him round and pinned him to the wall. ‘Oh, look, there he is.’

  ‘Ah, shite.’ Jock stopped wriggling. ‘Craig, son, I need to get out of here.’

  ‘Where’s the phone?’

  ‘Right.’ Jock reached into his pocket for a blue-silver Samsung. ‘Here.’ He passed it over.

  Hunter unlocked it. ‘You’ve been messaging Shug, pretending to be Fiona. She just gave you her passcode?’

  ‘I can guess most people’s based on a few questions. Yours is 4781.’

  ‘Jesus.’ Hunter felt himself blush as he checked the messages.

  Shug

  Crom harbour

  Quarter to six

  Be there or be a cunt

  Half an hour.

  24

  Hunter sat in the car and checked the dashboard clock. 17:40, and no sign of an early appearance by Shug, unless he was watching from afar.

  ‘Cullen’s late.’ Chantal leaned forward to stretch out. ‘We should’ve put the meeting back.’

  ‘No chance of that, hen.’ Jock in the back, his foot jiggling like he was playing in a ceilidh band. Or he was bursting for the toilet. Like a small child. ‘One-time deal. Someone like that gets in touch with info you want or need, you don’t get much say in when you meet.’

  Chantal twisted round to frown at him. ‘What exactly was your plan, then?’

  Jock sat back, arms folded. ‘Listen, that laddie knows what happened. I was going to go to town on him.’

  Chantal looked round with a sneer. ‘With your Fleshlight?’

  Jock shrugged. ‘How the hell did you find that?’

  ‘Not exactly well hidden, was it?’

  ‘Why did you run?’

  Jock shrugged. ‘I didn’t want to get caught up in a load of nonsense with the police.’

  ‘You’re sitting in a car with two cops.’ Hunter twisted fully round to face him. ‘Besides, you didn’t know I’d find a dead body in that flat. You didn’t know the cops would be a couple of minutes away.’

  ‘I just needed to get out of there, son. Don’t need any noise from the cops.’

  ‘What have you done, Dad?’

  Jock slumped back in his chair. ‘I’m living in my car.’

  ‘It doesn’t look like it. It’s too tidy.’

  ‘Well, I don’t exactly want to put up a sign saying “Man sleeping here, come and steal his valuables”, do I?’

  Chantal smirked at him. ‘Who would steal a used Fleshlight?’

  ‘Shut up about that. Christ!’ Jock let his seatbelt whizz up. ‘Look, I’m a tidy man, and I clean up every morning. And I’ve a special cleaner for that thing. I’ve got a sleeping bag and one of those sleep pillows for the planes. Then Murray let me stay at his for a bit while things blew over.’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘Never you mind.’ Jock tapped at the window. ‘Looks like Shug’s not turning up. Five minutes late now. That Fiona lassie said he’d be bang on time.’

  ‘Fiona knew about this?’

  ‘Well, I sounded her out about Shug. She wasn’t exactly full of great chat. Think she’s got a thing for me. I’m sick to the back teeth of daddy issues.’

  ‘No, you exploit them.’ Hunter scanned the area. The sweep of the coast, down to the small harbour. Nobody around in the early evening gloom, not even dog-walkers. He got out his phone and called Elvis. ‘You guys on your way over or what?’

  ‘Got a wee bit of a problem, Craigy boy. Sheep all over the road. Can’t get through.’

  ‘You’re kidding me.’

  ‘Wish I was. We’re doubling back to the A9 and taking the low road. Be another fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Bloody hell.’ Hunter tightened his grip on the phone, felt like snapping the bastard thing. A few deep breaths and he was calm again. ‘Can you track a number for me?’

  ‘Sure. Got my laptop primed and ready. What is it?’

  Hunter read it out.

  ‘My reception’s not the best up here in the boonies, let’s see.’ Clicky clacky sounds. ‘Aha, got it. One potato, two potato, three potato and bang. Well, it looks like it’s in Cromarty. And it’s moving. If I was a betting man, I’d say it’s near the pub. That help?’

  ‘A bit, aye. Cheers, Elvis.’ Hunter hung up. ‘Shug’s here.’

  ‘Thought you’d be able to track his phone down to the inch, son?’

  ‘Doesn’t work like that. We’re not CTU.’

  ‘CT-what?’

  ‘It’s a 24 reference. Never mind.’ Hunter got out of the car. ‘Let’s split up and find him. Jock, you stay here.’

  ‘What? I’m not—’

  ‘Last time, you fucked off with a stolen phone. Stay here and behave, okay?’

  A nod and a grunt from Jock, then the old git tugged h
is jacket collar up and sat back.

  Hunter locked the door this time, then followed Chantal towards Big Vennel and the high street. ‘He’s going to screw this up, isn’t he?’ He sighed. ‘Just like he’s screwed everything else up in his life.’

  On the high street, a pair of male smokers lurked outside the pub, eyeing up an office worker heading home. No sign of Shug, not that they had much to go on other than a sketchy drunk Facebook photo.

  ‘Right, you go that way.’ Chantal set off towards the pub, leaving Hunter to head towards the art centre, to where he’d tailed Fiona the previous night. The short side roads were mostly empty, just a couple of businessmen getting out of their cars in the pale streetlight glow. He called Chantal as he walked. ‘You got anything?’

  ‘Not yet. You?’

  ‘Still nothing.’ Hunter looked back the way and spotted her talking to the woman with the heels. ‘Keep me posted.’ He ended the call and dialled Elvis again. ‘Can you get me an update on that phone’s location?’

  ‘Checking… It’s not moved yet, Craig.’

  ‘Still near the pub?’

  ‘Aye, as far as the tech will let me see. You know, if I had access to the GPS…’

  ‘Can you?’

  ‘Ha, good one.’

  Chantal was talking to the smokers outside the pub, but their body language didn’t look encouraging.

  Hunter was outside the arts centre now. No ceilidhs tonight, not even a candlelit yoga session. Down the street to the shore, Jock sat in the car stretching out his back, the window cracked open and his sharp breath puffing in the air. No Shug. And no other possible routes. So he doubled back towards the pub, rounding the bend again.

  Chantal was hammering towards him, chasing after someone. Shug, presumably, though the light was so low he couldn’t see who.

  Hunter darted towards them, his boots clomping off the road, rattling his fragile ribs.

  Chantal caught up with Shug, but he darted away from her grasp, kicked her in the shin and pushed her over, sending her tumbling into the pub doorway, then bombed towards Hunter.

  Hunter closed on him, but Shug cut down a side street towards the shore. A stark choice—Shug or Chantal?

  Hunter raced over to help her up from the doorway, yelling, ‘You alright?’

  ‘Get him!’ Her shout echoed round the street.

  ‘Right.’ Hunter sprinted off down the vennel, his boots slapping off the cobbles now, his breath coming slow and hard, but digging into his ribs. ‘STOP!’

  Shug was fast, short and lithe, head ducked low, and outpacing Hunter, gaining half a stride with each one of Hunter’s. He spun out at the end of the street, turning right, and Hunter pushed hard, rounding off the corner, and stopped dead.

  Jock stood over Shug, now lying on the ground. Jock knelt low and grabbed Shug by the throat. ‘Right, you little shite. Where the hell is my son?’

  Shug tried kicking him away but Jock held him fast, pinned to the pavement. ‘Get to fuck!’

  Hunter elbowed Jock out of the way and caught a sickly smell. Dogshit. He gripped Shug by the wrist, yanking him up to standing, and saw a smear all up his back. He let out a deep sigh, even though his breathing was still racing.

  Chantal jogged over, dabbing her mouth with the back of her hand.

  Hunter gave her a nod, still holding on to Shug. ‘You okay?’

  ‘I’m fine.’ Chantal slowed to a leisurely stroll and put her phone to her ear. ‘Thanks for the backup, Scott. We’ve got Shug.’

  Hunter turned on Jock. ‘I told you to stay.’

  ‘Well, I’ve got two pairs of keys, haven’t I?’ Jock stared at Shug. ‘And I wanted to sort this pervert out with my own two hands.’

  Shug bristled. ‘Who you calling pervert, you old cunt?’

  ‘Leading my son astray!’

  ‘Mate, they were the ones leading me astray. Pair of them, snorting amyl nitrate. Couldn’t keep their hands off each other’s cocks, kept trying it on with me. Not my scene.’

  Jock wrestled free and stomped towards Shug. ‘You fucking come here and say that!’

  Hunter grabbed Jock by the shoulders. ‘STOP!’

  And he did.

  Hunter focused on Shug, trying to ignore the reek of dog muck. ‘Tell me everything you know about Murray Hunter.’

  ‘Like I told that old cunt, you can get to fuck.’

  25

  The interview room still stank of boiled fish, but it was getting worse. Rotten, boiled fish. That could play to their advantage this time. Maybe. But it was masked by the cloying reek of dog shit. Shug sat there, in a fresh tracksuit, still somehow stinking of it.

  Hunter leaned forward, catching his shirt button on the edge of the table. ‘We’re looking for a Keith Wilson.’ He let the name settle in the air and in the interviewee’s mind. ‘You seen him recently?’

  Shug sat back, cleared his throat, then took a long sip of water, slow and careful, while he stared at Cullen, then at Hunter. Under the harsh strip lights, his weaselly features were lined with creases and cracks. Not so much a lived-in face, as a long series of stays in grotty hotels. All this time, he’d not even looked at Hunter. Didn’t seem the sort to defer to official hierarchy, so maybe there was something else in his reticence. Like knowing what happened to Murray. Shame, or guilt maybe. ‘No idea what you’re talking about, pal.’

  ‘Know anything about Keith’s death?’

  ‘Now hold on a minute!’ Shug raised his hands high in the air and shot a dark glare at Hunter. ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’

  ‘Sure you don’t want that lawyer in here?’

  ‘Quite sure, pal, quite sure.’

  Usually it was a blessed relief to be without a snidey little bastard in a cheap suit, but when someone was this deep in trouble, a lawyer could help coax out the truth in exchange for something useful for their client. Then again, Shug didn’t seem to know how deep in the shit he was.

  ‘You know where Murray Hunter is?’

  Shug frowned, running a hand over the salt-and-pepper stubble. ‘The actor?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know, the comedian boy.’ Shug started clicking his fingers. ‘In that Absolutely show. Mind it? Back in the eighties?’

  ‘Different spelling.’ Cullen leaned forward, a subtle flash of his eyebrows telling Hunter that he was taking over. ‘That was Moray as in the firth. This is Murray as in David Murray. Used to own Rangers.’

  Shug rolled his eyes. ‘I’m not a hun, pal.’

  ‘Right.’ Cullen nodded slowly. ‘So, is it Ross County or Inverness Caley Thistle?’

  ‘Aye, good one. Not been arsed with football in many a year. Used to be a Celtic fan, as it happens, but…’

  ‘But you gave that up for heroin.’

  Shug gave Cullen a long hard look. ‘Do you want me to help you or what?’

  ‘You know which one it is, so let’s cut to the chase. Last week, you took two people on your boat out to an oil rig in the firth.’

  A shrug. ‘So you say.’

  ‘We’ve got evidence of it, you need to—’

  ‘I didn’t kill him.’

  ‘But you know who did, right?’

  ‘You seem to have the wrong idea about me, pal. I’m just a fisherman with a sideline in boat tours.’

  Hunter nodded at his bony arms, covered in tiny pinpricks. ‘Which doesn’t explain the track marks.’

  Shug started rolling down his left sleeve.

  ‘The way I see it, something happened on that oil rig.’ Hunter waited until the right sleeve covered the scabbed-over dots on Shug’s skeletal forearm. ‘Now, we have video evidence that you were on the rig with them.’

  ‘Like fuck I was!’

  ‘You were on the jetty.’

  Shug slumped back in his chair and shoved his hands in his pockets.

  ‘Despite running from us, you’re here as a potential witness, not a suspect.’ Hunter screwed up his face, started tilting his head from side to side l
ike he was weighing something up. ‘The way it’s looking, though, I think we should rethink that approach.’

  Shug picked up his water again, his hand shaking slightly. He didn’t speak.

  Hunter glanced over at Cullen. ‘What do you think, Inspector?’

  Cullen sat back and folded his arms, twisting his lips as he thought. ‘I agree with your assessment. Way I see it, he’s just a fisherman caught up in something here. Something he didn’t expect.’ His pause let Shug nod a few times, but he clearly didn’t realise he’d stepped into a trap and the snare was biting into his leg. ‘But he’s hiding something from us, isn’t he? And I’d really love to know what. Because if we found out from someone else the information he’s keeping back, then that really wouldn’t look good for him, would it?’

  Shug still kept quiet.

  ‘Of course, if that something implicates him in a murder, then—’

  ‘I wasn’t involved in anything like that!’

  Cullen nodded slowly. ‘So how about you tell us exactly how you are involved?’

  Shug gasped out a sigh. He stared up at the ceiling, the lights shining on his neck and showing a diagonal slash across his throat from his right ear. ‘Fuck it.’ He settled back in his chair and hugged his arms tight around his skinny frame. ‘I took those two loons over to that rig, okay? I waited there for them while they went up, but a boat came over. I was about to hightail it out of there when I spotted that Keith boy coming back down the ladder, absolutely shitting himself. He got in and told me to go. So we did.’

  ‘He say what happened to Murray?’

  ‘Said nothing much, pal.’

  Hunter decided not to press it now, just keep him talking. ‘Where did the boat come from?’

  ‘From the Invergordon side, but I couldn’t say exactly where. Got a few suspicions.’

  ‘Any you’d like to share with us?’

  ‘Nothing you’d find useful.’