The Black Isle

by Ed James

  Hunter let out a deep breath.

  ‘Mick’ was none other than Derek Farrell, the drug-dealing rapist they’d been hunting for months.

  29

  Cullen winced with each step towards them. ‘You got him?’ He was still clutching his groin.

  Hunter nodded. ‘It’s Derek Farrell.’

  ‘Should I know that name?’

  ‘I presume you DIs have a newsletter that covers wanted criminals, one you’re supposed to actually read?’

  ‘I’m not in the mood.’ Cullen let out a deep breath. Looked like his eyes were watering and not from the rain. ‘Swear, I’ll never have kids now.’

  ‘That’s a good thing for the human race.’

  ‘Craig, I mean it. The number of times I’ve seen Methven get clocked in the nadgers… Christ. Where is he?’

  Hunter pointed off into the distance. ‘Robertson and Elvis are taking him to Inverness. Robertson lost the guy from the rig.’

  ‘Right.’ Cullen got out his radio. ‘And definitely can’t place the guy’s accent?’

  ‘Could be anything, mate.’

  ‘Okay. Sort that rabble out in there.’

  ‘Boss.’ Hunter stepped into the caravan, dripping wet, and joined Elvis in the living room.

  Surprisingly nice. A long kitchen table set between Shaker units. In the corner, an L-shape sofa sat around a giant wall-mounted TV showing some aggressive beachside porno.

  ‘Get that off.’

  Bain was rooting around in the kitchen. He was still soaking wet, shivering, shaking his head. ‘Eh?’

  ‘The… Never mind.’ Hunter hit the power button.

  ‘Got something.’ In a gloved hand, Bain held up a block of drugs very similar to the one on the GoPro footage.

  Hunter took a long look at it. Pure white powder, too clean to be coke, but not dirty enough to be heroin. Certainly not street heroin. The evidence trail wasn’t dead yet.

  Bain walked over to the bathroom, giving the place a quick scan. ‘Nobody’s flushing anything down the toilet. Okay, toots, you want to do the other room? Check nobody’s torching a stash.’

  Chantal left him and entered the bedroom. Then stopped dead. ‘Craig!’

  Hunter walked over.

  A girl lay on the bed, half-dressed. Biting a gag and mumbling. Eyes wide, but out of her head on something. Maybe roofies, maybe something even worse. And she looked young. Barely fourteen, let alone sixteen.

  Hunter entered the private room and gave the doctor a stern look. ‘Can you give us a moment?’

  He nodded and followed them out into the hospital corridor, giving Chantal a nod. ‘Sergeant.’

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘Well, we’ve completed a rape kit, but that’s up to your lab to process.’

  ‘I’ll get it fast-tracked.’

  The doctor nodded. ‘Sadly, even your fast track goes round the houses.’

  ‘Found out what she’s on?’

  ‘Vodka, judging by the smell. Her blood alcohol level’s still high. And I suspect it was spiked too.’

  ‘Rohypnol?’

  ‘Be a while before I can confirm, but you’ll know as well as I do that date rape drugs like that don’t persist in the bloodstream. We might have caught this early, though.’

  Chantal smiled at him and patted his shoulder. ‘Can we have a word with her?’

  The doctor took his time considering, then folded his arms. ‘I am concerned for her wellbeing.’

  ‘I’ve had training, sir. Until Friday, I was in the Sexual Offences Unit and—’

  ‘Fine, fine.’ A flash of a smile. ‘I trust you.’ He snorted, then sloped off down the corridor.

  Hunter took a deep breath and braced himself. Never got any easier.

  Elsa lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Didn’t seem anywhere near as out of it as back in the caravan, and she didn’t seem to have woken up to the truth. And Christ did she look young.

  Hunter sucked in another breath and followed Chantal in. ‘Hi there. My name is Craig. This is Chantal. How you feeling?’

  Elsa glanced at them. A smile danced across her lips, then disappeared, replaced by a frown. ‘What do you want?’

  Thirteen and she’d already sussed out the world.

  ‘We wanted to ask you about Derek Farrell.’

  ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘The man you were… The man whose caravan you were in.’

  She sat up in the bed, frowning. ‘You mean Mike?’

  ‘You know him as Mike, that’s fine. We want to know what happened to you. That’s it.’

  She reached over for a cup of water and sipped at it. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you’re not the first he’s done this to.’

  She put the cup back on the nightstand and grimaced. ‘It was my first time. And it hurt.’

  ‘You poor thing.’ Chantal sat by the bed and reached out a hand.

  Elsa took it. ‘Why did he do that?’

  ‘He’s not a nice man.’

  ‘He seemed it.’

  ‘They all do. Men like this Mike. Until they get what they want.’

  ‘But he seemed so nice.’

  ‘You want to tell us what happened? It’s okay if you don’t.’

  ‘Right.’ Elsa clenched her jaw. ‘Mum works as a cleaner, clearing out people’s caravans every week. I go along, do my homework while she works. Sometimes I help her. But he started chatting to me when Mum was emptying her bucket.’ She shut her eyes. ‘Am I going to get into trouble?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I was drinking.’

  ‘No way.’ Chantal held her gaze, each passing second adding to the trust pile. ‘His name is Derek Farrell. He has raped five women that we know of. You’re the sixth.’

  ‘Oh my god.’

  ‘Tell me about the drink.’

  ‘He asked if I wanted some bev. That’s what we call it. Mum was still outside. I said, of course. He said to come round later. Mum works in a pub in the village, leaves me on my own. But I sneaked out, went to his caravan. He gave me some vodka and coke. It was lovely. Then I don’t remember much. He was stroking my hair. Then he took my bra off. And my pants. And…’ She shut her eyes, her face twisted by tears.

  Footsteps thumped out in the corridor. ‘Where is she?’ Then a ruddy face in the doorway, a fierce-looking woman scowling at Chantal, then Hunter, then Elsa. ‘Oh my god, poppet. Are you okay?’

  Hunter gave her space. Hard not to feel a world of anger for letting her daughter get into this situation. But he also empathised with her. Clearly a single mum, doing her best to raise a girl on her own, working at least two jobs, struggling to hold her shit together, while the father was nowhere to be seen.

  Where had he seen that before?

  Hunter stood in the shelter outside the police station in Inverness, watching the rain lash through the darkness. Beginning to feel like a second home. A car hissed past, taking it slow.

  The front door opened and Cullen came out, holding two mugs, the steam wafting out. He handed one over. ‘Found a cafetière and some ground coffee that wasn’t too dusty.’

  ‘Cheers.’ Hunter wrapped his hands around it and savoured the warmth. ‘How’s your plums?’

  ‘Still sore, but I’ll live.’

  Hunter wanted to ask about Yvonne. The perfect opening. ‘Any sign of the lawyer yet?’

  ‘A criminal defence lawyer at this time on a Tuesday night in Inverness? Good one.’

  ‘Robertson said one’s on her way.’

  ‘Well, I never.’ Cullen took a sip and nodded approvingly at the coffee. ‘The amount of gear we found in that caravan… And the small matter of Elsa McGinty lying in his bed, out of her skull. She’s thir-fucking-teen, Craig.’

  It hit Hunter in the guts like the butt of an AK-47. He nodded. Didn’t want to tempt fate with his words, so he took a sip of coffee, bitter but with a malty sweetness. ‘Can’t believe Robertson lost that big Russian guy and didn’t get the plates.’
>
  ‘What was he doing there?’

  ‘I don’t know. And I don’t like not knowing. Could’ve been there to kill him. Could’ve been after some drugs. Could’ve been after that schoolgirl.’

  ‘Why would he kill Farrell?’

  ‘The brick of heroin Keith found on the rig was in his kitchen drawer. It all ties together.’

  ‘Farrell was the reason you and Chantal got kicked over to Methven, right?’

  ‘Right. He’s a serial rapist who deals drugs. Working on that Sexual Offences Unit, you see some pretty fucking evil people. Derek Farrell’s right up at the top. Five rapes that we know of. Plus Elsa McGinty. I don’t know how these fuckers do it, but they get the women to keep quiet months and years after they have any influence over them.’

  ‘Sucks, mate. At least with vanilla murders, you’ve got hard evidence.’

  ‘This is different, though. She’s thirteen. No consent. Plus forensics and none of the shame you get with adult victims. Much as I hate to see it, I’ve seen so many adult rape victims pull out of testifying because of the shame.’

  ‘Such a shitty situation.’

  Bain squelched over to the door. ‘Fuckin’ swear someone’s pissed in that pool.’

  ‘Smells like it too.’ Cullen smiled. ‘It would’ve been worth it if you’d actually caught him.’

  ‘Fuck off, Sundance.’

  ‘Fuck off, sir, you mean?’ Cullen ran a hand through his damp hair. ‘Or fuck off, boss. Don’t mind either way, just remember who you report to.’

  ‘Fuckin’ load of shite, this.’ Bain barged between them, absolutely reeking. ‘Remember when you were my DC… Christ.’ He trudged inside, leaving a trail of pissy footsteps.

  ‘Another paid-up member of the Scott Cullen fan club, eh?’

  Cullen grinned. ‘Says the official club president.’

  ‘Touché. What’s his beef with you?’

  ‘Same as with everyone else.’ Cullen stood up tall and winced. ‘Same as with the whole world. He’s a toxic little man. He’s always been an arsehole. Now he’s my arsehole.’ Another drink of coffee, then he shook out the dregs into the rain. ‘Ach, he’s not that bad. Used to be, but he’s better now. You know that Peter principle, where people are promoted to the point of incompetence? He’s been demoted back to the point he’s barely competent.’

  ‘Be careful yourself.’

  A flash of carefully trimmed eyebrows. ‘Still a few more rungs to climb before I get there, mate.’

  Hunter laughed. ‘Jesus, you’re impossible.’

  ‘I’m serious. But we should think about getting you some stripes on your sleeve.’

  ‘Don’t even joke about it.’

  ‘I’ll joke about a lot of things, but not that.’ Cullen gave him a hard stare. ‘You’re a good cop, Craig. Maybe need a psych evaluation before we put you through the sergeants’ exam.’

  ‘You’re winding me up.’

  ‘I’m deadly serious.’ Cullen clapped his shoulder. ‘You see the calibre of officer I’ve got here. Methven’s asked me to rebuild the team after that shite last year, and I just can’t see Elvis, Buxton, or Eva Law as sergeants.’

  ‘You’ve got Chantal.’

  ‘I do. And I’ve also got Bain. I might try and demote him again. I’ve been speaking to an old mate in Dundee, but I doubt she’ll up sticks to Edinburgh just to deal with my rabble. Either way, I’d appreciate you as well. Someone I can trust to call me a dickhead when I’m being one.’

  Hunter stared hard at him. ‘You’re still messing with me.’

  ‘I swear I’m not.’

  A hatchback pulled up over the road, hidden from streetlights.

  Hunter squinted at it. ‘Is that the lawyer?’

  A passing car lit it up. An orange Ford Focus.

  Cullen groaned.

  DI Sharon McNeill got out of the driver’s side and crossed the road, flanked by a couple of female officers as stony-faced as her. ‘Scott.’

  ‘Sharon.’ Cullen gave a polite smile, hiding the dark feelings that had to be surging in his gut. ‘You made good time getting up here.’

  ‘I took the piss during the average-speed stretch, cleared a hundred all the way from Perth.’ She joined them on the steps, frowning at Hunter as her acolytes headed inside. ‘I’ve got priority on this case.’

  Cullen laughed. ‘No chance. This is mine. You’re only here because I had the courtesy to phone you and you happened to be checking my sloppy seconds in Perth.’

  ‘Come on, Scott, you’re better than that.’

  ‘I’m really not. But Craig and Chantal are on this case, they can cover for you.’

  ‘They’re no longer my officers.’

  ‘But they were. They know how your mind works. I never did.’

  Sharon squared up to him. Hunter felt like he was watching them in the bedroom when they were still a couple, a toxic mix of fighting and fucking. ‘Lauren Reid called me, by the way. Local units picked up the caravan owner in Edinburgh. One Steven West. He was on a pub crawl with a load of idiot friends from his university days. Picked him up when he was gurning into a camera outside the Basement Bar on Broughton Street. Guys are in their forties but still drinking like teenagers.’

  Cullen nodded, a mischievous grin flashing over his lips. ‘I remember going for a drink with you in the Basement Bar a long time ago.’

  Hunter cut between them, focusing on Sharon. ‘What did the caravan owner say?’

  She focused on him like she was looking at the underside of her running shoe after bombing through a field filled with cowpats. ‘He said he has no idea who’s staying in his caravan. Not been up for months. Got a call with a letting agency in Aviemore, could be it’s all above board.’

  ‘Or he could be squatting.’ Hunter tried to assess it, based on their intel, but it all came up short. ‘Seems unlikely he didn’t know Farrell. Guy could’ve shown up at any point, right?’

  ‘Well, Constable, you’re welcome to head down to Edinburgh and find out.’

  ‘Craig’s got to interview someone with me, Sharon.’

  ‘I told you, I want in on that.’

  Cullen laughed. ‘This is my case and you know it.’

  ‘Scott, you’re being immature.’

  ‘No, this is my case.’

  ‘He’s raped five women.’

  ‘Six. And the latest is an underage schoolgirl.’

  Sharon puffed out her cheeks. ‘Shite.’

  ‘Murder trumps rape. Sorry. We’ll get him for all of it. Don’t worry.’

  ‘I wish I could trust you.’ She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Look, you and I can sit in the obs suite. Let Craig and Chantal speak to him. They’ve got previous with Farrell.’

  ‘Works for me.’

  Hunter sat in the obs suite, looking at Farrell on his own in the interview room. Sitting there, smirking and laughing at something. Sick little bastard. ‘You all right?’

  Chantal looked over at him. A black eye was forming around her left, but he knew not to even mention it. ‘I just want to interview that piece of shit.’

  ‘I want to smash him through a wall.’

  ‘Where is that—’

  A knock on the door and an Asian woman peered in. Her eyes widened when she got a look at Chantal. ‘Oh.’

  Chantal stood up tall. ‘Can I help?’

  ‘I’m here to represent Mr Farrell.’ She held out a hand to Chantal. ‘Anna Patel, working for MRPX Associates.’

  ‘DS Chantal Jain.’ She shook it with a broad grin. ‘The new name for McLintock and Williams, right?’

  Patel took her hand back with a shrug. Didn’t seem to be in a hurry to offer it to Hunter. ‘As was. We were all partners in the previous company and decided to rebrand following events of last year.’

  ‘MRPX sounds like a high-speed Subaru mode.’ Hunter smiled at her. ‘You’ll be the P and I know the M and the R. So who’s the X?’

  ‘That isn’t important.’ Patel kept her focus on Chantal. ‘M
y client won’t tell the full story unless there’s some sort of deal on offer.’

  ‘You’re having a laugh.’

  ‘No, I’m not. I’m deadly serious.’ Patel smoothed down her hair. ‘Sergeant, I completely understand your position. We can reach a compromise.’

  ‘Really.’ Chantal barked out a laugh. ‘You want us to reach a compromise that lets your raping piece of shit get out and be able to do it again?’

  ‘Listen to me. If you can get my client off with minor drug dealing, ideally a fine but less than a year served, then he’ll talk.’

  Chantal stared hard at her, that look that meant she was considering slicing her throat open. ‘I don’t think you understand the situation. We’ve got your client on possession for the intent to supply and whatever charges come from the child.’

  Patel tilted her head to the side. ‘So you don’t want him to help you find your brother?’

  30

  Hunter stomped along the corridor, Chantal following a few steps behind. ‘Seriously, we can’t even think about letting that raping bastard get off with this.’

  ‘That’s way above our pay grade, Craig.’ Chantal stopped, forcing him to turn to face her. ‘Look, there are ways and means. You know that. We can use some sleight of hand to cover the deal, get what we want and’—her jaw clenched slightly—‘let Sharon’s team prosecute him for the rapes.’

  Hunter pinched his nose. ‘I fucking hate this.’

  ‘Craig, it’s where we are. Okay?’

  Hunter stared at her, eventually seeing the truth in it. Aside from the broiling emotions in his gut, there was a policing matter here. He saw that. No matter how much Farrell needed to go down, if he was offering up this drug-smuggling ring, then they had to take the bigger fish.

  He thumped the wall. Didn’t even dent it. ‘Fucking hell.’

  Chantal stroked his arm, slow and steady. ‘How did your brother get wrapped up in this?’

  ‘He’s a bloody idiot.’

  ‘There’s being a bloody idiot, and there’s getting into this shit.’

  ‘Right.’ Hunter let the breath out slowly. ‘I think he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That urbexing shit… You’re playing percentages. The more you do it, the more likely it is you’ll come a cropper. And sometimes your luck runs out.’ He opened the canteen door.