by Ed James
‘The matter?’ Bloodshot eyes darted around, struggling to focus on them. Fergy took a deep breath, clearly trying to control himself, and thumbed at the front door. His dark hair was greying at the temples, bristles of salt-and-pepper stubble dotting his jawline. ‘The bloody matter is she won’t let me in.’ He gave it another dunt for good measure. Up close, the guy looked like he could handle himself, all tight muscle backed up by the snarl of a seasoned bar brawler.
‘Can we start with your—’
A woman’s voice tore through the front door. ‘I’ve called the police, Doug! They’ll be here any minute!’
Finlay took a step towards the door. ‘We’re here, Mrs Ferguson!’
‘Keep him away from this house!’
Finlay nodded at Hunter to take over, like he’d had enough already, and crouched down to speak through the letterbox. ‘PC Finlay Sinclair, ma’am. Can I come in?’
Hunter got between him and Fergy. ‘Doug Ferguson, is it?’ He waited for a brief nod and motioned away from the door. ‘I need you to come with me, sir.’
Doug followed with slumped shoulders, eyes locked on the door as Finlay flapped the letterbox open to turn the conversation down from a shouting match.
Hunter clicked his pen and noted the date, time and location. ‘Let’s start with your full name, sir.’
‘Doug Ferguson.’ His eyes looked like they were trying to drill through the wooden door.
‘Is that Doug or Douglas?’
‘Douglas.’ He shook his head, firing another salvo of daggers at the house. ‘She’s got no bloody right…’
‘Do you live here, Mr Ferguson?’
‘Course I bloody live here. And I pay all the bloody bills, an’ all!’
‘I understand, sir.’ Hunter stepped closer, getting a face-full of paint fumes and second-hand smoke. No trace of booze, not even a masking mint or the clack of chewing gum. Maybe drugs? He tilted his head to the side, eyebrows raised. Doug’s pupils looked a bit on the large side, but still within anyone’s normal range. Ish. ‘Can you tell me what’s happened here, Mr Ferguson?’
‘What do you bloody think’s happened, you tube?’ Doug was panting now, hard and fast, like an overbred show dog. ‘She’s booted me out of my own house!’
‘Who has?’
‘Pauline.’ Another thumb at the house. Didn’t look like Finlay was getting anywhere, least not inside. ‘The wife.’
‘And did your wife tell you why she’s kicked you out?’
‘Aye, she bloody did.’ Doug snorted and started twanging the straps of his overalls, the Hibs badge masked by a splash of magnolia. ‘Her daughter’s saying a load of shite about me.’
‘Not your daughter?’
Doug sniffed, then rubbed a hand across his nose. ‘Steph’s my stepdaughter.’ He focused his fingers on kneading his forehead. ‘Took the wee tart in and this is the bloody thanks I get?’
Hunter checked his video was still blinking away. Could never be too sure. ‘Take it slowly, sir.’
‘Was just making a sandwich in the kitchen, man, when I get an earful from Pauline.’ Doug’s eyes flicked from side to side, as if he wasn’t comprehending what was going on. ‘All this bollocks about this and that.’
‘Can you expand on “this and that”, please?’
‘Speak to her.’ Doug shook his head, eyes on the house. ‘A load of nonsense, I tell you.’
‘Stay here, Mr Ferguson. I’ll see what’s going on, okay?’
‘Aye, no worries.’
Finlay was on his hands and knees in front of the door, pushing the floor-level letterbox wide open. ‘Mrs Ferguson, I need you to let me inside.’
‘How do I know you’re proper police and not one of his mates, eh?’
‘I’ve got a warrant card and a uniform.’
She paused. ‘You’re no’ getting in ’til he’s away from here.’
Hunter leaned over to whisper at Finlay. ‘I’ll take over here. Sure a wee chat with Doug in the car about Hibs’ prospects in the Championship this season will settle him down.’
Finlay nodded and resigned himself with a deep shrug. ‘Aye, sure.’
Hunter waited until Finlay had lured Doug round the other side of the van. ‘Mrs Ferguson, my name’s PC Craig Hunter. My colleague’s taken your husband away.’
‘He’s no’ my bloody husband after what he’s done!’
‘I understand.’ Hunter left a pause, trying to listen for a key in the lock. Anything. ‘Would you mind letting me in?’
A latch rattled loose and the door clicked open.
Pauline Ferguson stuck her head out, looking down the street in search of her husband. Eyes not so much ringed as dropped down a well. She wore a skirt without tights, sunburnt skin under a pale salmon blouse. Then she locked eyes with Hunter. ‘In you come.’
Pauline wedged herself onto a beige sofa next to a teenager, clasping her hands. ‘This is Stephanie.’
The thin girl grunted up at Hunter. She was most likely sixteen, looking like she’d just emerged from her pupa as a full-grown goth. Shoulder-length hair, same brown as her mother dyed hers. Dark tights and white blouse under a navy gymslip. Purple school jacket lined with yellow, matching the tie, sarcastically tied.
Hunter stood a distance away from them, taking in the large living room. The white walls were covered in white-background action shots of Pauline, Doug and the teenager, looking like she was having fun despite herself. A pair of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the street — Finlay had got Doug to sit in the back of the squad car, his legs still outside the vehicle.
‘Stephanie, this guy’s here to help, will you at least look at him?’
Stephanie nibbled at her lips, eyes only for the TV, some white metal kids throwing shapes at the camera, the din on mute.
‘Stephanie, my name is PC—’
She jabbed her thumb at the remote and a thrashy racket filled the room.
Pauline swivelled round to stare at her daughter, her long legs tapping in time to the music. ‘Christ, Stephanie, what’s got into you?’
The girl closed her eyes and dropped her chin onto her chest. Sunlight crawled up her skinny leg, catching some glitter on her lumpy knee. Despite the hunched posture she looked tall, like gravity had a different effect on kids these days.
‘Do you want to speak to the police officer, hen?’
Steph shook her head, still transfixed by the metallers on the TV.
‘Okay, love.’ Pauline hugged her daughter close.
The girl recoiled and crawled over to the other end of the sofa, her eyes wide like the cat with his neck pinched.
Hunter smiled at Pauline and tried to lead her away from her daughter. He stood by the door, wincing at the thud from the TV.
Pauline grabbed the controller and turned the music down, just enough to stop blood pouring out of anyone’s ears. She got up and trudged over to the doorway, her mouth hanging open. ‘I’ve kicked him out.’
‘Can I ask why?’
‘She says Doug’s been…’ Pauline gave a quivering sigh, eyes shut. Then open again, jaw clenched, eyes back on the couch, where Stephanie was rubbing at her eyes. ‘She said he’s been abusing her.’
Jesus wept. Only this morning I’d been longing for more important work. Be careful what you wish for…
He swallowed hard and focused on the girl on the sofa, her mouth twitching in time with the music. ‘Do you know how long this has been happening?’
‘I’ve no idea.’ Pauline scratched at her wrist. ‘She won’t say.’
‘Do you believe her?’
‘Of course I believe her. She’s my daughter.’
And sons and daughters never lie…
‘Okay. How old is—’
‘Sixteen in May.’
Hunter paced across the room and crouched down in front of the girl, thighs burning as he held himself there. ‘Stephanie, I need to ask you a few questions.’
She ran a finger across the palm of her left hand.
‘I know this is difficult to talk about, Stephanie, and, if you want, you can tell me to go away.’ Hunter paused for a few seconds, leaving a gap for her to fill. She didn’t. ‘I need you to take me through what you told your mother.’
Stephanie looked away, the sunlight catching her pale neck.
‘I know this is difficult, but, if he’s abused you recently, there are things we can do.’ Hunter left another space. ‘Has anything happened today?’
Tears streamed down Stephanie’s face, drawing mascara stalactites under her eyes. Then she gave the world’s smallest nod.
‘Recently?’
An even smaller nod, if that was possible.
‘Stephanie, I need you to help me here, okay? We need to get you to a doctor who will do what’s called a Sexual Assault Evidence Kit. Once that’s been processed, we’ll be able to use the evidence to prosecute him.’ He waited for another nod. ‘Can you remember if he used a condom?’
Stephanie shook her head.
Jesus Christ…
Hunter returned to the doorway, fire burning at his neck. ‘Mrs Ferguson, we need to get your daughter to the hospital to undergo some tests.’
Pauline ran a hand across her forehead. ‘But she’s got the school…’
‘This is urgent. If she’s been sexually assaulted recently, there will be evidence.’
Pauline covered her face with her hands. ‘I can’t cope with this.’ Then she let her hands go, her jaw clenched, and glanced over at the window. ‘What’s going to happen with Doug?’
‘We’ll have a word with him at the station. Keep him away from here for a few hours. In the meantime, you might wish to consult a lawyer about legal proceedings.’
‘I work for a solicitor.’ Pauline nodded, the same mascara tears now lining her cheeks. ‘Just do whatever you can.’
‘The important thing is to be strong for your daughter, Mrs Ferguson.’
She gripped his arm tight. ‘Don’t call me that.’
‘Of course.’ Hunter stared at the girl, trying to get her attention.
Nothing.
‘IT’S ALL A LOAD OF SHITE!’
Outside, Doug was on his feet, jabbing a finger at Finlay, like he was abusing Hearts fans at an Edinburgh derby at Easter Road.
Hunter clenched his fists and started across the hall carpet. ‘Wait here.’
‘I don’t give a monkeys about the Rangers or Alan bloody Stubbs.’ Doug only had eyes for the house and the twitching living room blinds. ‘You hear what that wee—’
‘Mr Ferguson.’ Hunter marched over to the police car, straight for Doug, using his extra height to show he meant business. ‘I need a word.’
Doug leaned back against the car, arms folded, and looked away. ‘So she’s going to let me in, right?’
‘Not just now, Mr Ferguson. Stephanie has levelled some serious allegations at you.’
Another glare over at the house, shaking his head. ‘That wee bitch is lying.’
Hunter motioned for Finlay to restrain him. ‘Douglas Ferguson, I’m detaining you under—’
‘No, you’re not!’ Doug launched his forehead at Finlay, thudding against his skull with a loud crack. Finlay dropped like a sack of tatties. Before Doug could sprint off, Hunter reached out, grabbed Doug’s wrist and almost yanked his arm out of his socket. Doug stopped short with a grunt. He somehow managed to throw out a wild kick, his steel-toe-capped boot clipping Hunter’s knee, freezing him for long enough to spin out of his hold.
Hunter stumbled forward, clutching his knee tight as he screamed out.
Doug hugged his arm to himself, gritted his teeth and made off down the road, tracing the chain-link fence along the graveyard in the shadow of a tall beech.
‘Here we bloody go again…’ Hunter got up and tried to dart after him, but his knee buckled and he dropped back down. He struggled to his feet, wincing in pain as he settled for a limping skip, gradually gaining speed as he closed in on the winded fugitive. Clearly not a runner.
Ignoring the pain in his leg, Hunter sprinted the last few yards and jumped, his forearm smacking into the side of Doug’s neck. His legs caved and he tumbled over the old stone wall into the graveyard. Hunter’s already damaged knee grazed the wall. He went down hard and lay on the pavement, chest heaving, red pain throbbing in his eyes. A shadow ran across his vision.
Doug was up, weaving through the gravestones like a zombie on fast forward.
Hunter hauled himself up and kept pace with Doug, hobbling along on the other side of the wall until Doug got within arm’s reach. Hunter propped his weak leg on the wall and kicked himself up and over.
Ah, you bugger…
Feeling his balance go, Hunter launched himself at Doug and caught him in a headlock, tackling him to the ground.
Strong fingers scratched at his thighs, clamping around the muscle. Locked together, they rolled through the grass, stopping just inches from a grave. A jab to his side made Hunter let go.
Doug was up again, ready to run. Hunter, still on the ground, swiped at him with an elbow and caught Doug’s right ankle, sending him sprawling backwards, his shoulder cracking off a gravestone.
Hunter grabbed Doug’s wrist, twisting it behind his back a few more notches than was necessary. ‘Douglas Ferguson, I’m detaining you under Section fourteen of the Criminal Procedure Scotland Act 1995.’ He snapped his cuffs on the prone man’s wrists. ‘Anything you say—’
4
‘Lawyer!’ Doug Ferguson stood stock still in the car park, his voice cascading around the concrete space. ‘I want a lawyer!’
Hunter rolled his eyes at Finlay across the car’s roof. ‘You okay to deal with this?’
‘I will be now.’ Finlay nodded back the way. Fat Keith was rolling his way across the scarred floor, belly hanging out as he chewed on another donut. ‘After all, the cavalry’s waddling in.’ He shoved Doug towards Keith. ‘Go and update the Princess, aye?’
‘Lauren?’ Hunter had to check they’d both turned their Body-Worn Video off. ‘Thought I was the princess?’
‘You’re just a princess, mate.’ Finlay slammed his door. ‘She’s the definite article.’
Lauren kept her gaze on her computer, fingers battering the keyboard like it’d wronged her in a past life. She locked her machine and slumped back in her chair, a frown twitching over her forehead. ‘You okay?’
‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘Young girl being abused by her stepfather. It’s pretty traumatic, isn’t it?’
‘I’m fine.’ Hunter tightened his grip on the chair back and shrugged. ‘Just doing my job, Sarge.’
‘Strap a tin suit on and I swear you’d be RoboCop.’
‘Rather be the Peter Weller one than that remake a couple of years ago.’
She frowned. ‘That was a remake?’
‘You should check out the original. Or maybe not.’ Hunter stood up tall again and stuffed his hands deeper in his pockets. ‘Anyway, Dave and Steve are taking the girl and her mother up to the hospital. And we’ve got Doug Ferguson in custody downstairs. He’s lawyering up as we speak.’
Lauren brushed a stray hair off the arm of her fleece. ‘So, I take it there’s something in this?’
‘Like I said, the girl’s a mess and her mother’s not exactly helping.’
‘And him?’
‘Not being judgmental, but I’ve seen the type. The grass on the pitch sort.’
‘Excuse me?’ Lauren tightened her jaw. ‘That’s not a term I ever came across in Thames Valley.’
Hunter cleared his throat. ‘Look, there’s a certain kind of guy. They have this saying, something like “if there’s grass on the pitch, you’ve got to play”. Sick bastards, usually told with an evil grin in their eyes, you know? The sort of bastards we’re finally managing to put away these days, at least more often than not.’
‘Jesus Christ.’ Lauren shut her eyes, her jaw tensing through the skin in a tight rhythm. ‘I get where you’re coming from, but let�
��s not be too hasty here.’
‘I’m just saying, that’s my initial assessment, Sarge. Guy ran off when I tried to detain him.’
‘Listen to me, Craig. We need to treat him as innocent until he’s proven guilty, okay?’
‘Come on, Sarge, that’s—’
‘No ifs, no buts. This man has been accused, that’s all. We need to build up a solid chain of evidence against him. I don’t need any knee-jerk reactions or any lynch mobs with flaming torches and pitchforks.’
‘All I’m saying is smoke and fire are never too far apart, Sarge.’
‘And sometimes the cause of the fire isn’t what you think it is.’
‘This doesn’t disgust you?’
‘Of course it bloody does. Just make sure we get this man convicted, if he indeed did anything.’ She curled a strand of hair around her fingers. ‘Listen, we had a briefing from Inspector Buchan last week. You remember that case in the Omni Centre? Well, anything like that, we’ve got to work with the Sexual Offences Unit in Bathgate in the first instance.’
‘Think they’ll bite?’
‘We just need to give them a nice juicy worm.’ She stood up, the coil of hair falling in front of her left eye. ‘Think this stepfather’s juicy enough?’
Hunter exhaled, making his cheeks wobble. ‘You have watched the BWV footage, haven’t you?’
‘That’s why I think it’ll suit their skill set more than ours.’ She stared at her keyboard, placing her fingers in a triangle and thumping the DEL key. ‘I’ll raise it with Inspector Buchan. Can you get back up to the hospital while he waits for his lawyer?’
Finlay took off his cap, the hospital’s strip lights bouncing off his shaved scalp. ‘Bloody baking in here. Worse than the Princess’s office.’
Hunter looked up from his sandwich and took a few seconds to finish chewing. ‘There you are.’
‘Here I am.’ Finlay nodded at the lunch box. ‘Lord Ponsonby-Smythe finally got round to eating his nettles and tarmac sandwich?’
