by Ed James
Where had she run to?
Means and Opportunity, all due to Finlay’s bloody gaming addiction. Stupid bastard. Aided and abetted by goblins and inept cops.
Motive, though. Why? Why run away? Was it just from Doug? Could it be from her mother as well? What if Doug was beating up Steph as well as Pauline?
And who the hell was that man in the garden? Nobody’d found him yet, but… His stomach tied itself in another knot.
Hunter rustled around in his new uniform stash and started hauling the fresh T-shirt on.
Still stank of shite.
Hunter stepped into their office, brushing a hand through his damp hair. The vaguest whiff of crap still hung in the air. Place was quiet, though.
Finlay was in the far corner, hunched over a laptop, facing away like a naughty boy caught with his fingers in the sweetie jar. Not that he’d see it that way.
Jain was slumped in a chair near the door. She frowned at his trousers. ‘None in your size?’
‘I always thought I should try the skinny-fit jeans craze.’ Hunter bunched up the trouser material, hardly any give in it. ‘Doesn’t quite suit me, right?’
‘You’ve got rugby player thighs.’ Jain leaned back in her chair, eyebrows raised. ‘And that’s going to be distracting as hell.’
Sweat started prickling on Hunter’s clean skin as he sat next to her, the trousers’ industrial-strength stitching just about holding. ‘What is?’
‘Those thighs and those tight trousers. Jesus.’ Jain spun her Airwave on the desk in front of her. ‘Our guy’s still at large.’
The knot in Hunter’s gut pulled itself even tighter. ‘Come on, what’s with all this innue—?’
‘It’s Sergeant Jain now, I gather.’ Inspector Alan Buchan strolled in from the corridor and held out a hand, his movement slow and considered. Red hair, thin goatee, medium height. Had a face like a potato someone had left in the microwave for too long. ‘Long time, no see.’
Jain grinned at him. ‘Al, how you doing?’
‘Well, I’ve had better days.’ Buchan nodded at Hunter, nostrils twitching. ‘Nice move, Craig.’
What the hell?
Then Buchan was grinning at Jain. ‘DI McNeil would appreciate an update on operation Spanner, if you’ve got a minute.’
‘Okay, sir.’ A smile crawled over her face. ‘Your office?’
‘Indeed. Just follow me.’
Jain clapped Hunter on the shoulder, perhaps lingering a second longer than necessary. ‘Going to see where we are with the CCTV?’
‘Sure thing.’ Hunter watched them meander along the corridor, like the best of friends. Then over at the arse-wipe working in the corner.
Chasing up Finlay Sinclair wasn’t exactly using my brain…
Hunter paced across the room and tapped him on the shoulder.
Finlay jumped, clawing at his white earphones. ‘Christ!’ He clocked Hunter and his shoulders slouched. ‘Shite, it’s just you, you schmuck.’ His nostrils shifted up a gear, twitching like a frightened rabbit. ‘What the hell’s that stink?’ He looked up from the laptop, across the office space. ‘Jesus, Hunter, did you shite yourself again?’
‘Funny guy… Had an accident chasing someone.’ Hunter pulled his trousers away from his legs. ‘We got any in my size, do you know?’
‘You’ve checked the store room, right?’ Finlay was back at his laptop. ‘Steve ripped the arse out of a pair last week. Think he’s the same size as you.’
‘With that belly?’
‘Why don’t you go have a look, instead of hassling me for fashion advice?’
Hunter perched himself on the edge of Finlay’s desk. ‘You’re in a great mood.’
‘Aye, I signed up to do community policing not mess about looking at CCTV.’ Finlay slapped the spacebar and slouched back in his seat. ‘What exactly happened to your trousers? Chantal tear them apart with her teeth?’
Hunter missed a beat. ‘I wish…’ He coughed. ‘Long story involving a mysterious stranger and a garden.’
‘Sounds like an average Saturday night for you, minus the romance.’
Hunter tugged at his trousers. Bloody things were itching like a bastard. ‘What CCTV you looking at?’
Finlay waved up at the clock on the wall. ‘Half six. Should be in the boozer by now, except for bloody Princess Cleopatra making us stay and cover your arse.’
‘My arse? You’re the one who let her go.’
‘No I bloody—’ Finlay flicked his hands at him. ‘Right, whatever. I’m just thinking about the OT. All I need to do is get the Princess to sign it with her feather quill.’
‘Aye, good luck with that.’ Hunter got another whiff of dog muck. He took his fleece off and checked the back — thing was definitely clean. ‘How’s the CCTV going?’
‘Shite.’
‘Got anything at all?’
‘Square root, mate. Can you not undress in the changing room like a normal human being?’
Hunter tossed the fleece over to his seat. ‘Look, I’ve been asked to babysit you while the normal human beings have their update meeting.’ He stared out of the office’s back window. Annandale Street Lane was cast in deep shadows. A mother grabbed her toddler’s hand tight and took care in looking both ways three times before crossing.
Had Pauline Ferguson ever been like that? Had she ever taken that much care with Stephanie? Or had the girl flinched away back then, too?
The new-build flats lurked behind, big cream things like a custard obelisk. ‘Lauren lives over there, doesn’t she?’
‘If you squint, you can just about make out the ivory tower. Who’d want to live there?’ Finlay’s focus was back on the laptop screen. Must be a world record for him. ‘Tell you, the bloody Training department’s still shuttered. Waste of time and bloody money that was. I told everyone when they built this bloody station. Nobody listened to me, though, did they? Same as usual. Bunch of rubes.’
‘Only you pair could make an arse of looking out of the window.’
Hunter swung round to the doorway.
Elvis was resting against the jamb, arms crossed. Need to rethink that nickname — Elvis had soul. Paul Gordon was more like Shakin’ Stevens.
‘You should get a slot at the Stand, amigo.’ Finlay looked up from his laptop. ‘Then we can throw rotten fruit at you for those deadbeat jokes.’
‘I’m not the one everyone’s laughing at, Finlay.’
‘Even with those sidies?’
Elvis patted the left one. ‘What’s wrong with them?’
‘If you have to ask, you’ll never know.’
‘I’m serious. I’m trying for a Wolverine look.’
‘The X-Man? You look more like an extra in a seventies porno. Or like Elvis, but not in his Sun Records phase.’ Finlay kept his gaze low but his smirk high. ‘More like the nappy-wearing days.’
Elvis wandered over, trying to laugh it off, and leaned against Hunter’s desk, his nostrils twitching. ‘Heard about you pair making an arse of that open-and-shut case.’
‘We didn’t make an arse of it. The girl ran away.’
‘Oh aye? You were guarding her, though, right?’
Finlay shook his head and hunkered down in front of the laptop.
Hunter gave Elvis the up and down. Trying hard not to punch him. ‘You here to investigate the case of the missing paperclips or something?’
‘Nah, just wanted to rub it in.’
Finlay smirked. ‘Like you do to young lassies on the bus?’
‘Jesus, man.’ Elvis made a T-shape with his hands. ‘Time out, aye? Save that for the bar.’ He shook his head and tossed a key onto Finlay’s desk. ‘We’ve got your CCTV upstairs.’
Finlay slammed his laptop lid. Be lucky if the screen was still intact. ‘I’m fine here.’
‘You sure? Lauren asked my DS for it. You don’t piss Cullen off.’
Cullen was getting his hooks in now…
Hunter got away from the window and picked up the key. ‘Finlay,
go and have a look, aye?’
‘Here we go again.’ Finlay eyed the key in Hunter’s grasp and let out a sigh. ‘Is there anything on it?’
‘Well, way I hear it, your lassie got the bus into town.’ Elvis had his phone out, giving the screen a good look. ‘Got the rest of the route, plus footage from around each of the stops. Princes Street, Cameron Toll.’
‘How many’s that?’
‘Thirty, I think. And that’s just towards Princes Street.’ Elvis winked. ‘Might make you think twice about buggering anything up in future.’
Finlay caught the key from Hunter’s throw. ‘Like that’s ever stopped you.’
‘Classy.’ Elvis made pistols with his fingers at Hunter. ‘Chantal’s a wild one and no mistaking. Said you’re to meet her in Buchan’s office.’
Hunter popped his head round the door and shifted his gaze across McNeill and Lauren. Jain was lurking by the glass cabinet, a few small trophies on display. No idea what for.
Buchan was sipping at a latte behind his desk. ‘What’s up?’
‘DC Gordon said DS Jain wanted a word, sir?’
Buchan waved at the display case next to Jain. ‘I’d offer a seat, but they’re all taken.’
‘Prefer to stand, sir.’
Buchan took a drink from his cup, covering his ginger moustache in brown foam. ‘How did the tournament go?’
What the hell?
Hunter frowned. ‘Sorry, you’ve lost me.’
‘The chess? You were two up on Saturday lunchtime, weren’t you?’
‘I’ve never played chess, sir.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Pretty sure, aye.’
‘Sorry, that must be someone else.’ Buchan wiped the foam away, leaving a thin sliver in the middle. ‘Have you found him, then?’
‘No, sir—’
‘Just a sec.’ Lauren got up and gripped Hunter’s arm. ‘Can you give us a second, sir? Ma’am?’
‘Sure thing.’ Buchan shrugged and stared into his cup. ‘So who played chess, then?’
McNeill nodded approval, already lost in her mobile.
Hunter followed Lauren out and pulled the door to behind him. ‘Here comes a standard-issue size six up my rectum.’
‘Size five.’ Lauren opened a meeting room door across the corridor and peered inside. ‘In here.’
Hunter took the chair nearest the whiteboard, sucking in wafts of marker pen. Sweltering in here. He reached over to open the window.
Lauren grabbed his wrist. ‘It’s too bloody cold in here as it is.’
‘Come on, Sarge, it’s stinking like an Airfix shop.’
‘Just man up.’ Lauren sat at the head of the table and folded her arms, narrow eyes glowering at him. She smacked her hand at the door, like she was hitting a forehand at squash. ‘They’re calling this Operation Spanner. Are you happy with that?’
‘Not really, Sarge.’
‘I’m livid.’ Lauren untied her ponytail and bunched her hair together, snapping a scrunchy around, much tighter than before. ‘Your idiot partner has really dropped a bollock on this.’
‘That’s an unfortunate choice of words.’
‘What is?’
‘Never mind.’ Hunter stared at the warped grain of the wooden table top. ‘He’s lost in that CCTV, so he can’t arse anything else up for a while.’
Lauren shook her head at him and rubbed her palms deep into her eye sockets. ‘Well, Inspectors Buchan and McNeill have been putting their heads together, haven’t they?’ She sighed. ‘We are to focus on this under the SO unit’s supervision.’
‘Why can’t CID or the MIT do it?’
‘Because we’ve already got a trained detective working it.’
He frowned. ‘Who?’
‘Christ sake Craig. You.’
Hunter laughed. ‘You’re joking, right?’
She glared at him. ‘Wish I was.’
‘Sarge, they didn’t want me two years ago.’
‘So?’
Hunter’s mouth was dry. ‘Can’t believe they’re playing that card now. That’s all.’
‘Well, I don’t care whatever card they’re playing. We’re working this case full-time. You and that idiot partner of yours are off normal duties until we find Stephanie. Am I clear?’
Felt like I met the devil at a bloody crossroads and all I got for my soul was this case. That and Finlay Sinclair.
Hunter picked up a marker pen and drop-kicked it across the room, sending it straight into the metal blinds. Sounded like a cutlery drawer clattering to the floor. ‘Are you going to tell HR I won’t be going to that interview tomorrow?’
‘We’d better have that girl in here giving a statement by then, believe me.’ She waited for him by the door, jabbing her index finger into his polo shirt. ‘You get back in there and contribute, okay? Buchan doesn’t want us looking like ginger stepchildren.’ She raised her hands. ‘His words, not mine.’
Buchan was playing with his empty coffee glass, swirling the froth around in the bottom. ‘Does anyone want another cup while we— Oh.’ He nodded at Lauren and Hunter. ‘Right, so where have you got to, then?’
Lauren perched on her chair again. ‘PC Sinclair’s going through the CCTV we got—’
‘PC who?’
‘Finlay Sinclair, Alan.’
‘Have I met him?’ Buchan snapped his fingers a couple of times. ‘He’s the chess one.’
‘Are you sure?’
Buchan clicked his tongue, then lifted his eyebrows. ‘Maybe not.’
‘Anyway, PC Sinclair’s looking at the CCTV from the bus company.’
‘Okay, that’s a start.’ Buchan ran his finger around the lip of the mug and sucked at a lump of foam. ‘So where is she?’
‘We don’t know, sir.’ Lauren started scribbling in her notebook. ‘We are looking—’
‘Phones?’
‘Well.’ Jain glanced over at Hunter as he joined her in the window. ‘I’ve got a trace on the girl’s phone. She’s not had it on since the hospital.’
‘Typical.’ More scraping at the bottom of the glass. ‘Did she have it with her?’
‘Think so.’ Jain looked over at Hunter. ‘It was on her bedside table, right, Craig?’
‘I believe it was, Sarge.’
‘And it wasn’t there when she flitted?’
‘That’s right.’ Hunter got out his pocket book with a fresh pong of dog muck. He winced and flicked through the screed he’d written while Jain had driven back. ‘We should also check out her social networks. We know she didn’t reply to a message her friend sent, but she might have messaged someone else, or at least logged on.’
Lauren winked at him and whispered: ‘See, you’ve still got it.’
Hunter gave her a blank stare. Anger fizzed away in the pit of his guts. ‘Bottom line, sir, we still don’t know where she’s gone.’
Buchan dipped a longer spoon into his glass and supped some more foam. ‘You’ve been out speaking to the usual suspects, though, haven’t you?’
Jain nodded. ‘Got a few leads to chase down, sir, but nothing concrete. Think it looks like a dead end.’
‘Which means we’ve got to approach the tigers.’ Buchan’s spoon clattered onto the table as he tilted his head at McNeill. ‘Sharon, you and I should lead on that?’
She flicked her head around, frowning. ‘Sorry, approach the tigers?’
‘You know, the tigers.’ Buchan smacked his lips together a few times. ‘Was it Keith who played chess?’ He ran a tongue over his teeth and frowned. ‘Not sure.’ Then nodded at McNeill. ‘I mean the press.’
‘Right, with you now.’ McNeill checked her watch. ‘If we get onto it, we might catch the evening news.’
‘Wait, so this isn’t with the tigers, already?’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘Sergeant Reid… Come on…’
‘Sir, that decision was between you and DI McNeill as Senior Investigating Officers.’ Lauren looked up from her scribbling. �
��But before we slip down that rabbit hole, we need to consider the possibility that the girl might’ve committed suicide.’
‘We’ve made a complete arse of this.’ Buchan sucked on his spoon again. ‘I don’t want this girl to be another statistic. Either way, we’ve got to find her and soon.’ He inspected a notepad on his desk. ‘How’s the suspect from the lassie’s garden?’
Jain folded her arms. ‘Still at large, sir. And no, we don’t know who he is. Could just be a burglar.’
‘I doubt it.’ Hunter leaned back into the window frame. ‘He could just as well be one of the stepfather’s mates looking for Stephanie.’
‘That’s a very good point, Craig.’ Buchan frowned at McNeill. ‘Sharon, we’re at your bidding here.’
‘I’m thinking Stephanie’s running from Doug Ferguson, but it’s possible there’s something else we haven’t uncovered.’ McNeill stayed focused on the Inspector. ‘I’m thinking it’s time for someone to speak to Doug Ferguson. He’s suffered long enough as it is.’
14
Hunter stood outside the interview room, a cramped space which reeked of stale BO and fresh pies. Some bugger had eaten their piece in there. No doubt to avoid the MIT…
At least it doesn’t smell of dog shite.
Jain was silhouetted in the dying light from the window at the end of the corridor, talking on her mobile with such focus that it blinded Hunter to the seediness of the surroundings, let him forget that the glass behind her was as splattered with soot and muck from passing traffic as was the entire building.
She pocketed her phone and strode over to the door. ‘Let’s do this.’
‘You leading in here?’
Jain raised an eyebrow. ‘What, you think I haven’t noticed you taking over every time I’ve asked you not to?’
‘Sorry.’
‘No, you’re not, are you?’ She shook her head, the grin back. ‘You’re a cheeky wanker.’
Hunter’s gut started churning again, his heart fluttering that little bit faster. Is she asserting her authority or…?
