Craig Hunter Books 1-3

by Ed James

  The wonders of fame…

  Tam nodded vigorously. ‘Lassie was on her mobile, eh? Kept jabbing the bloody bell. Does my nut in.’

  ‘Did she go through to Glasgow?’

  ‘No, got off in Edinburgh. For definite. Stop for the zoo.’

  20

  Hunter pulled in by the row of Victorian townhouses opposite the zoo’s entrance and glanced at the passenger seat, where Finlay seemed to be in a coma. ‘You got anything yet?’

  Finlay shot up and smacked himself in the face with the Airwave clamped in his hand. Grumbling some inane excuse, he switched the handset on and pressed it against his ear. ‘Last I heard, Elvis was still looking.’

  ‘Going to stick that thing on speaker?’

  ‘Man, you’re such a princess.’ Finlay stabbed a finger on the screen, then held the device out. ‘Paul, you’re on with Craig Hunter.’

  ‘Morning, Craig. Heard you shagged Chantal Jain.’

  ‘And good morning to you, too.’ Hunter glared at Finlay, mouthing: ‘Was that you?’

  Finlay waved both hands and shook his head.

  ‘Aye, she was up here chatting to young Eva and Cullen.’ Elvis cackled down the line. ‘Says you’ve got a wee willy winky.’

  Jesus Christ. What?

  She was up there, talking about my … Why?

  Hunter held the handset at arm’s length, tempted to smash the thing on the floor. ‘Have you actually got anything for us?’

  ‘Getting there.’

  ‘Didn’t think to check her phone records when you were asked?’

  ‘One, there’s this murder investigation going on. Two, Tommy Smith’s only just given me access.’ Elvis hammered the keyboard in the background. ‘There you are. Found it.’

  ‘So?’ Hunter scowled at the phone. ‘Who did she call?’

  ‘Ghostbusters. Hang on.’ Sounded like Elvis had dialled off. ‘She didn’t call anyone. She received one. Balls. Unknown caller.’

  ‘Don’t the network people know?’

  ‘I’ll try, usually want a RIPSA form or something.’ More keyboard abuse down the line. ‘You on good terms with your DI?’

  Hunter sighed and looked away at the passing traffic. ‘You know I’m in uniform these days.’

  ‘Aye, I do that.’ Elvis laughed again. ‘Well, have a word with your Inspector unless you’ve pissed him off, as well?’

  Tempted to chuck the bloody thing out of the window. Like that’d harm Elvis…

  ‘Anything else in the tea leaves?’

  Elvis paused for a few seconds. ‘She was on that call for ages. Twenty-two minutes plus change.’

  ‘That doesn’t make sense.’ Hunter clicked his fingers. ‘Can you trace the location?’

  ‘Now that I can do. Sort of.’ Elvis’s mouth breathing sent waves of distortion down the line. ‘Right, here we go. She started the call at St Andrews Square, then it switched through a few towers to the one by Haymarket. Then another couple and we’re at the one by the Holiday Inn next to the zoo.’

  Hunter looked back at the big grey box lurking behind the trees. The Holiday Inn’s conference centre extension sat squat at the side of the road, like a bunker on the front line. Jesus, where did that image come from? Was the whole of Edinburgh a war zone these days? Certainly enough traitors…

  ‘Then the call swapped to the tower by PC World on Glasgow Road.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Sure as eggs are disgusting when you leave them burning in the pan too long.’

  Fan-fucking-tastic. What else had she told them?

  Hunter pulled out into traffic and powered along St John’s Road, a jungle of trees and generic Edinburgh houses. Most of the cars were heading into town. ‘So Stephanie was walking?’

  ‘I’d say.’

  Hunter rolled his eyes at Finlay. ‘Anything else on that?’

  The purple PC World building crawled round the bend, lurking by low post-war houses.

  Finlay shook his head. ‘This is a long way to be walking, dude.’

  ‘Aye, you’re not wrong, my man.’ Elvis yawned down the line. ‘Hang on. The call switched to a mast in the park up on Corstorphine Hill. Ended there.’

  Hunter pulled in at the side of the road, just by the roundabout. ‘What, so she didn’t get to PC World?’

  ‘Doesn’t look like it. If I was a betting man, I’d say she was walking up the hill.’

  ‘Let’s say you’re right…’ Hunter swung around to look at the wall of trees climbing over the houses on the skyline. ‘Why would she go up there?’

  ‘This is it?’ Finlay put his hands on his hips and propped himself against the car. ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘That’s what Elvis said.’ Hunter scowled across the green expanse of the park near the top of Corstorphine Hill, practically glowing in the early morning light. A few people stood by the bus stop behind them, the nearest woman talking on her phone as a dog pulled on its lead. Further over, modern bungalows and houses sprawled down the side of the hill. ‘This is another needle-in-a-haystack job, isn’t it?’

  ‘You trusted Elvis…’ Finlay shrugged. ‘Useless bastard.’

  ‘Pot, kettle.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘Just watch who you’re calling useless.’

  Finlay snorted and looked around. ‘She could be anywhere up here.’

  ‘So let’s get looking.’

  ‘We don’t know she’s still here, do we? She’s not had any camping gear. It’s not like she’ll be sleeping rough.’

  Hunter frowned. Made sense. ‘So she’s staying with someone?’

  ‘You tell me, jabroni.’ Finlay gave a wide gurn, the special one reserved for being particularly arsey, where his bottom lip almost covered the top. ‘This case must make you feel like you’re a detective again. Beats saving cats, eh?’

  ‘This is why I joined the police, Finlay. I could’ve earned a shitload working the rigs or what have you, but I’m doing something for society.’

  ‘I’m doing it for the money, pal.’

  ‘The money? The police?’

  ‘The pension, then.’ Finlay shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘Soon as my thirty are up, I’m selling up here, moving to Spain and drinking myself to death.’

  ‘And that’s not depressing?’ Hunter stared at the houses behind them. Could be anyone in there. He got out his Airwave. ‘Did Elvis say Tommy Smith gave him the info?’

  ‘Think so, why?’

  Hunter jabbed the dial button on his Airwave. ‘PC Craig Hunter to Control. Over.’

  ‘Receiving.’

  ‘Mags, can you put me through to Tommy Smith in Forensic Investigations?’

  ‘Sure thing.’

  The Airwave buzzed in his ear. ‘Craig Hunter?’ A burst of laughter erupted from the handset. ‘You still alive?’

  ‘Aye, Tommy, I’m still breathing. How are you doing?’

  ‘Can’t complain. Well, I could, but hey ho.’ Tommy paused. ‘Take it this isn’t you angling for an invitation to my Burns event next week?’

  ‘It’s business, sadly. You still remember that bottle of Dunpender I gave you a couple of years back?’

  ‘Knew that’d cost me in the end…’

  ‘Don’t think you could do me a wee favour, could you?’

  ‘Damn and blast. Should’ve just got me a Likely Laddie, then I wouldn’t feel so beholden. What is it?’

  ‘You gave a load of data to Paul Gordon, right?’

  ‘That Elvis boy? Aye, what of it?’

  ‘Unknown caller on there at quarter to six last night, something like that. Any chance—’

  ‘Got it in front of me. That teddy boy said this Stephanie girl you’re looking for had called her just before.’

  ‘Her?’

  ‘Says here the phone belongs to one Gaynor Tait.’

  ‘Grew up round here.’ Finlay held his Airwave away from his head and scowled up at the block of ex-council flats, covered as much by satellite dishes as brown har
ling. Four storeys of misery. ‘Christ, man. This lassie’s a teacher and she’s living here? So much for key-worker mortgages, eh?’

  ‘Maybe she likes it?’

  ‘Tell you, this country’s going to shite, mate.’

  ‘Says the man who wants to drink himself to death in Spain.’

  ‘Man needs a goal in life.’ Hunter pulled up at the T-junction, waiting for a mobility scooter to unblock the way. ‘Where now?’

  Finlay waved across the road. ‘There.’

  Hunter parked in a bay between two big work vans. He got out and crossed over, then marched up the path to a smaller box of houses. Just four flats across two floors. He put his cap on and knocked on the bottom-right door, a white plastic thing. Replacement, but it looked more like a private job than a council one.

  No answer.

  He knocked again.

  ‘She’s not in, mate.’ Finlay was staring down the street, watching a young woman hoik up a thong as she carried her baby. ‘Let’s get over to the school.’

  ‘I’m smelling a rat here.’

  ‘Well, I’m smelling bacon and fags.’ Finlay was still staring at the mother. ‘Spilt milk and tears. Like that Jam song, right? “Town Called Alice”.’

  ‘Malice, you idiot.’ Hunter sighed as he crouched down and flipped open the letterbox. ‘Ms Tait, got a parcel for you!’

  A floorboard creaked. Feet padded across the hall.

  ‘Just a second!’

  The door opened a crack. An eye peeked out into the daylight, guarded yet gullible.

  Stephanie!

  Her eye widened and she shoved back on the door.

  Hunter gave it a good shove, knocking the girl backwards into the flat.

  She tumbled over, landing defenceless on the hallway carpet. ‘No…’

  21

  Hunter gripped the handset and looked back inside the flat. A coffin-shape of sunlight was crawling along the dark laminate flooring in the hallway.

  Stepping into a coffin can’t be a good thing, can it?

  He tightened his grip on the Airwave. ‘I still think we should try to bring the teacher in, Sarge.’

  ‘And I hear you, Craig. Just keep Stephanie there.’ Lauren sounded like she was jogging down a corridor, her breath coming in short bursts. ‘You understand what I’ve just said, right?’

  Hunter kept his eyes locked on Stephanie through the glass door. ‘Aye, we’ll keep her until you get here.’

  ‘I don’t want her running away again.’ A car door slammed at her end. ‘Go.’ An engine revved followed by a blast of siren. ‘We’ll be fifteen minutes tops, okay?’

  Not at this time of day…

  Hunter killed the call and opened the living room door.

  Stephanie sat on a green futon, discarded bedsheets bunched up at her feet. Arms crossed, mouth hanging open. Still not speaking.

  Hunter stood next to her. ‘Stephanie, you really need to speak to us.’

  She shrugged and glanced at a desk in the corner of the room, the kind of chrome latticework IKEA sold by the van-load.

  Hunter wandered over to the computer. Looked ancient, a grey monitor sitting on top of a grey box. The screen was logged onto Facebook. ‘You’ve been keeping yourself busy, then?’

  Another shrug. ‘Bored as hell.’

  ‘You’ve got your phone.’

  ‘Battery’s dead and I can’t exactly go home for my charger.’

  ‘And Ms Tait doesn’t have one?’

  Stephanie started bunching up the bedclothes.

  ‘I said, Ms Tait doesn’t have one?’

  ‘Different type. She’s got an iPhone.’ Stephanie nibbled at a fingernail and took another glance at the computer. ‘Wasn’t posting anything. Just seeing what people are up to.’

  ‘Stephanie, you told your mother what Doug has been doing to you. Then you started telling me at the hospital. Who are you running from, Stephanie? Is it Doug?’

  For once, she met his eye. No make-up on today, made her look her age. Just a teenage girl. She sniffed and looked away again, sticking her thumb in her mouth, like a little child now. ‘They’re after me.’

  ‘Who are?’

  ‘Can’t say.’ She nibbled at her bottom lip. ‘They’ll hurt Mum.’

  ‘Who will?’

  ‘I can’t say.’

  ‘Stephanie, there are four police officers outside the house, twenty-four hours a day. Your mother is safe.’

  The man in the garden…

  Hunter tried to crouch down, but his knee blared out an alarm that must have been heard across the room, so he stood tall again. ‘There was someone at your house last night. Has Doug got people looking for you?’

  Stephanie shut her eyes. A slight shake of her head, barely enough to shift her hair.

  ‘Has Doug got people putting frighteners on you?’

  A vein in her temple started throbbing. ‘Doug said he wants to take me away. Wants us to run away together.’

  ‘Did you say you would?’

  ‘Well, aye. I didn’t want him to get angry with me. Didn’t want him taking it out on Mum, either.’

  ‘Does he do that a lot?’

  ‘Time to time. Usually when he’s been drinking.’

  ‘What happened yesterday? Did you tell him you weren’t going with him?’

  She averted her eyes and stared out of the front window. The sun danced in the elms like it didn’t have a care in the world. ‘Mum came in and we were arguing. So I told her everything Doug’s been doing to me.’

  ‘That must’ve been difficult.’

  ‘You can’t imagine.’ Stephanie covered her eyes, tears flowing down her cheeks. ‘Why me? Why do they always pick on me?’

  ‘It’s not your fault.’ Hunter reached out to console her but pulled back at her flinch. ‘I wish I could say it’s just bad luck, but there are some really nasty people out there. We need you to give a statement about what he’s been doing to you.’

  ‘But what about Mum?’

  ‘She’s fine, Stephanie.’ Hunter crouched down, ignoring the pain in his knee while aiming for a more sympathetic posture. ‘Are you concerned about your father?’

  ‘You know what Doug’s been doing to me.’

  ‘I meant your natural father.’

  She scrunched up, hiding her face. ‘He’s dead.’

  Hunter frowned at Finlay, who held his hands up. He cleared his throat.

  She jolted to her feet. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Stephanie, you should sit down.’

  She sat down with a thud and kicked the bedclothes away. ‘Tell me.’

  Hunter swallowed hard and wet his lips. ‘Your father is alive.’

  ‘No…’

  ‘He’s living in Cramond.’

  ‘No, no, no…’

  Hunter wanted to reach over and pat her on the back, try to calm her down. ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you.’

  ‘I thought he was dead… It…’ She collapsed against the futon. ‘No…’

  ‘We know what happened between you and your father. Has he tried to get in touch with you?’

  CRASH.

  ‘Stay here.’ Hunter nodded at Finlay as he darted over to the hall door and nudged it open.

  Nothing in the hall.

  He whispered at Finlay: ‘We need to get her out of here.’

  CRASH.

  Sounded like it came from the kitchen.

  Hunter peered back into the living room. ‘Stephanie, we’re going to take you to the police station. We’ll get your statement on record and help put Doug away. Okay?’

  ‘But they’ll—’

  ‘It’s okay. We’ll keep you safe.’

  ‘Okay, okay.’ Stephanie got up and grabbed a hoodie from the table next to the futon, then froze as the banging downstairs seemed to register with her.

  Finlay sighed at Hunter and grasped her wrist. ‘You won’t mind—’

  She recoiled, like he’d splashed acid over her hand. ‘No!’

 
‘Woah, it’s okay.’

  ‘I do mind.’

  Hunter gripped Stephanie’s squirming wrist and hauled her through the door, then hustled her up the path. At the end of it, he stopped and let go.

  Finlay was back at the house, his baton drawn like a sword.

  The street was dead, just a couple of small cars trundling off to work. Three sets of heels clicked down the far side, each to its own rhythm. Dolled-up women heading to the bus stop.

  Not too far to the Saab, maybe twenty paces.

  Finlay joined them, spinning round to take in the street. ‘I’ll go ahead to the car, okay?’

  ‘Go.’ Hunter grabbed Stephanie’s wrist again and waited until Finlay had unlocked the Saab. ‘Now.’

  ‘You’re hurting me!’

  ‘I’ll let go again as soon as you’re in that car, okay?’ Hunter started across the road towards the squad car, while Finlay jerked the back door open. ‘In you go, Stephanie.’

  She rested a hand on the top of the door and looked back at Hunter. ‘Thanks.’ Then her eyes bulged. ‘Shit!’

  Something cracked off the back of Hunter’s skull. He toppled forward, the searing pain making his eyes water. As the car door shot towards him, his vision went blurry. Then faint. Then black.

  22

  Cold concrete against his cheek. The mangled stench of a sewer. Heels clicking towards him, like they were running.

  Hunter opened his eyes and got up on all fours. Woozy, felt like someone had cracked open his head. He dabbed fingers at his crown, almost like he was touching his brain. His hands were covered in blood, dark and wet. It dripped onto the pavement like crimson rain.

  Hunter used the squad car’s door handle to winch himself up and leaned back against the car, his gut lurching forward.

  What the hell hit me? Shit, Stephanie!

  He looked around, struggling to focus and stay upright at the same time.

  Finlay lay in a foetal position a few metres away, cradling the bottom of a low hedge, thick and lush. He was groaning, facing away from—