by Ed James
‘I’m sorry.’ Gaynor ran a hand through her hair, the dark brown mess slowly but surely reconfiguring to the secretarial bob. ‘This is moving too fast for me. She only told me about it last night. After I spoke to you.’
Hang on a second…
Hunter opened his notebook and flicked back a few pages. ‘When did she call you?’
‘Yesterday, about half past seven?’
‘Not according to this. The phone company said you called her at quarter to six.’ Hunter held up his notebook and tapped the page. ‘Around the same time we spoke to you at Olivia Pearce’s house.’
‘She sent me a Facebook message just after I spoke to you.’
‘That’s not true, is it? She’d called you.’ Hunter flared his nostrils. ‘So why are you lying?’
Gaynor nibbled at her nails, chipping away at the dark-green polish. ‘You know what Named Person is, right?’
‘Sure, Children and Young People Act 2014. But what does that have to do with you lying about when she called you?’
Gaynor tilted her head to the side. ‘Not just a pretty face…’
Hunter narrowed his eyes at her, trying to stare down her evasive flirtation. ‘It’s not in force until next August.’
‘When it does finally kick in, I’m going to apply to be Steph’s Named Person.’ She inspected her nails, staring deep into the green gloss. ‘If it was in now, this wouldn’t have happened. You’d have heard from me. And you’d have had to act.’
‘So I’ll go back to why you’ve been lying to us.’
‘Look, I’ve been a teacher five years. In that time, one of my students was abused by his father. Another two were in violent homes. Every single time, I’ve gone to the police and you made a mess of the conviction. All three … men got off.’
‘Stephanie’s stepfather has been in custody since she made the allegations.’ Jain sat forward now, smiling broadly, like she’d replaced the Nirvana shirt with the dress from Frozen. Hunter liked one as little as the other. ‘If we’d known where Stephanie was, we could’ve commenced prosecution of her stepfather. We could’ve taken a detailed statement and put her in protective custody.’
Gaynor let out a deep sigh and nodded. ‘Look, I don’t—’
‘As it is, Mr Ferguson is nearing the very end of the amount of time we’re allowed to detain him. My boss is pulling all the levers she can, but despite the mitigating circumstances surrounding this case, we’re probably going to have to release him.’
The room fell silent but for the drone of the digital recorder and the scratch of Reynolds’ pen on his pad.
‘You kept Stephanie in hiding. That’s made things a lot more complicated for us. And for her.’ Jain’s smile wasn’t having anything to do with her eyes. ‘If you’d told us you had Stephanie, we could’ve charged Mr Ferguson by now. He’d have been in a bail hearing this morning and probably wouldn’t have got it. As it stands…’ She shut her eyes for a second, her jaw clenching tight. ‘As it stands, Stephanie’s no longer missing. She’s been abducted.’
Gaynor collapsed into the chair. ‘What?’
‘We found Stephanie an hour ago.’ Hunter steepled his fingers. ‘Then someone attacked me and my colleague and kidnapped Stephanie.’
Gaynor looked over at Hunter again, frowning. ‘What?’
‘Someone put her in the back of a car and drove off. We don’t know where they took her. Or who they are.’
‘Jesus.’
‘Do you?’
‘No, of course I don’t.’
‘But you’ve lied to us already.’ Hunter held up his notebook. ‘Why should we believe you now?’
‘Look. After I spoke to you, I finished up with Olivia. Just gave her some exercises to do until her folks came back. Page 131, that kind of thing. Then I drove home from Portobello. Must’ve broken the speed limit several times over.’
‘And Stephanie had gone to your flat as suggested?’
‘We were up till the wee small hours talking. This is when I was trying to persuade her to speak to you. I went to sleep at about half one. It took a long time to get Steph to open up.’
‘And you saw her this morning?
‘She’d slept on my futon. I was in my bed. I gave her a cup of tea, but she still wasn’t hungry.’
‘Sounds like she was in a state of distress. Don’t you think you should’ve called us?’
Gaynor was in the process of trying to separate her left pinky from its socket. ‘You wouldn’t understand…’
‘Try me.’
Again she tried resetting her haircut. This time a tuft stayed up near the back. ‘This is a girl who’s been subjected to abuse throughout her life. You’ve heard about her … natural father?’
‘We’ve spoken to him.’
Gaynor moved onto the middle finger. It barely budged. ‘Given that history, Steph wasn’t going to come forward unless I persuaded her. I said she could stay at my house until she felt comfortable talking about it. She just needed time to get used to someone close to her being prepared to support her.’ An almighty tug got her middle finger to click. Sounded like a dry stick cracking in the fire. ‘It took all the strength in the world to tell her mother what her stepfather had been doing.’
‘I’ve seen cases like this.’ Jain settled back in the chair and nodded. Could almost see the long black sleeves of the Nirvana shirt come back. ‘Don’t get why she wouldn’t come forward. This isn’t the first time it’s happened to her.’
‘Steph and her mother aren’t close. It’s not like they don’t get on, it’s more the other way round. She controls her, dictates who she can see. Smothers her.’ Gaynor took her glasses off and put them on the table, the legs still sticking out. ‘She said Pauline dotes on Doug. Nothing like with her real father. Apparently she’s firmly convinced that the sun shines out of his arse. So Stephanie doubted she’d believe her. And when she did… There’s just no security for the girl. Nothing to support her.’
‘Pauline called the police.’
‘But did she really believe Stephanie? Would she have kicked Doug out?’
Jain sat there brooding, eyes downcast. ‘Did she say anything about any threats against her, perceived or otherwise?’
Gaynor popped the index finger. Not a sound. She looked away, settling her gaze on the far wall. ‘Last night, I got the impression her running away was about more than her mum not believing her. It was like she thought someone was after her.’
Hunter sat forward, his pulse jolting. ‘Any idea who?’
Gaynor shook her head, her face pinched tight. ‘I’d put money on it being her stepfather.’
‘Anything to support that?’
‘I wish I had.’
Jain stomped down the corridor a few metres ahead of Hunter. Sounded like she’d dislodged at least one floorboard.
He jogged to catch her up. ‘You okay?’
‘Mm.’ She weaved past him. ‘What did you think of her story?’
‘You didn’t try to strangle her.’
Jain stopped. ‘What?’
‘Yesterday, you tried to batter the shit out of Doug Ferguson and—’
‘Right, aye. I get it. What are you trying to say?’
‘Just that I understand your frustration.’
‘Oh?’
Hunter reached for the back of his skull, but thought better of it. Felt queasy enough already. ‘We had her. Found her. And someone’s taken her. Makes me want to go off and do some of the shit I’ve been trained for.’
‘Army shit?’
‘What else?’
‘Look, Craig, watch what you’re doing, okay? You had a hierarchy there, you’ve got one here. Don’t step out of line.’ She marched off, arms tight across her chest like she was the top girl in High School.
Hunter got in front and stopped her. She tried to weave past but he blocked her. A couple of other uniforms were at the other end, frowning their way. He didn’t recognise either of them. ‘Chantal, have I done something wrong?’
Jain folded her arms and rested against the wall. ‘You tell me.’
‘Come on. This morning you’re all over me and now I’m in the dog house?’
Jain looked deep into his eyes, her brows low. ‘Craig…’ She sighed. Sounded like she added a ton of CO2 to the atmosphere. ‘Look. I’m having a shite day and it’s nothing to do with you.’
So why don’t I believe that…
She looked him up and down. ‘You look like someone’s shat on your Corn Flakes. What’s up?’
Hunter rubbed his eyes. ‘I just want to know what the story is with us?’
‘Is there an “us”?’
‘Is that it? Do you not want to be seen with a lowly PC?’
Jain stepped back to let the two uniform past, her smile dropping again as soon as they headed off. ‘Craig, now’s really not the time.’
‘Doesn’t feel like there’ll be another time.’
‘You always this needy?’
‘Forget it.’ Hunter marched off, thundering down the corridor.
She caught him at the corner. ‘Sorry I said that. Is something annoying you?’
‘A few things.’ Hunter stared over her shoulder through the window overlooking McDonald Road library. ‘I heard you were talking about me to the MIT.’
‘What?’ Jain leaned back against the glass. ‘Who told you?’
‘Elvis.’
‘Jesus, don’t listen to that clown.’ She gave him a dirty look. ‘Of course I wasn’t speaking to them.’
‘Sure about that?’ Hunter tilted his head to the side. ‘Didn’t speak to Scott Cullen about it?’
‘What?’ Her frown deepened, two squiggly lines tracing across her forehead. ‘Trust me, Scott’s the last person I’d speak to about my love life, okay?’
‘And Eva?’
Jain closed her eyes for a few seconds. ‘Christ.’
‘Like I said, Elvis overheard it. Said you said I’ve got a small cock.’
‘Elvis…’ She pursed her lips and looked sidelong at Hunter. ‘I’ve not seen him all day, so there’s no danger he’s overheard anything. Relax. I haven’t talked to Eva or anyone about the size of your…’ She looked down at his trousers and smirked. ‘Manhood.’ She winked at him and started off down the corridor. ‘Anyway, it’s what you do with it that counts.’
The back of his neck burned, like someone had put a cigarette out on his skin. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘She reached over and patted him on the shoulder. ‘You’ve got nothing to worry about. It’s what you do with—’
‘I get it.’ Hunter felt like the burn was spreading to his ears. ‘Look, I don’t like people talking about me.’
‘And neither do I, okay? Especially office romances.’ Jain held a door open and stopped to let a uniformed Superintendent pass with a nod. ‘If you listened to Eva, I’ve shagged half of this station.’
‘And have you?’
‘Just you and … someone else.’
Hunter’s heart sank below his gut. He swallowed. ‘Cullen?’
‘No, not Cullen.’ Jain laughed hard as she walked. Then she stopped with a groan. ‘Finlay. He saw us. Bollocks.’
‘I told him I saw you walking in and picked you up.’
‘I live off Easter Road, Craig.’
‘How about you took your car to the garage in Seafield and the bus broke down?’
‘Sounds pretty far-fetched, but okay.’ She gripped his shoulders. ‘Look, Craig, relax. Last night was fun.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
Hunter let out a halting breath. ‘So, where do we go from here?’
Jain started off down the corridor. ‘Have a think about it, okay?’
Lauren was reclining in her office chair, her desk phone clamped to her ear. She pointed at the free chair and Hunter let Jain take it, instead settling into the window space.
Elvis was opposite Lauren, fiddling with his mobile as he smoothed down his sideburns. Maybe he’d trimmed them a bit shorter. He craned his neck round to shoot a super-sized wink at Hunter.
Lauren huffed into the handset. ‘If you’re cleared for duty, Constable, then you’re working.’ She started windmilling her hand through the air. Either winding the call with Finlay up or getting her circulation working. ‘Desk duty is fine. I’ll see you at the station in twenty minutes. Okay. Bye.’ She slammed the phone down. ‘Never let it be said that Finlay Sinclair isn’t a monstrous drama queen.’
Elvis looked up. ‘He’s a drag queen?’
‘Drama.’ Lauren shook her head. ‘I take it you’ve got something on the CCTV?’
‘Aye, well, kind of.’
Lauren bristled, lips pursing tight and eyes narrowing. ‘What. Have. You. Found?’
‘Calm the beans, Sarge.’ Elvis raised his hands, the gesture diminished by the fact that he was still holding his flashy phone. ‘Just been sitting with the CCTV guy up on the Royal Mile. Took an age of man, but he gave me the footage. Finally.’
‘And?’
‘And I’ve been through the cameras on Corstorphine Road and all the other names it has. St John’s Road, Glasgow Ro—’
‘I get it. What have you found?’
‘Have a look at these, baby.’ Elvis held up his phone, a gleaming thing with the sort of screen that used to come with a projectionist and a vat of popcorn.
A greyscale Hyundai filled the display. Looked like it was on Corstorphine Road, left of where Hunter had lost it. The license plate was obscured by a tall removals van.
‘Wait, wait, wait.’ Lauren held up her hands, eyes narrowed. ‘You’ve got all this CCTV on your phone?’
‘Relax, Sarge. This is how they do it since they outsourced it.’
‘You’d better keep it secure.’
‘Locked down tighter than—’ Elvis coughed as he shuffled through the pictures. He swung round and showed off a still of Hunter in the battered Saab indicating right. ‘You went the wrong way, mate.’
Hunter glanced around. ‘Thought it was heading for the bypass.’
‘Well, it didn’t. Headed left back into town.’ Elvis swiped to the next image, taken from a camera down a side street. ‘The Hyundai took a right turn past the Holiday Inn onto Pinkhill.’ He grinned. ‘My gran used to live there.’ He flicked to another photo. ‘This is him, by the way. Lost his wing mirror when you clattered Keith’s Saab into that street light.’
‘Hang on.’ Hunter picked up the mobile and swiped to the right. A notification popped up at the top —
“AGE OF GOBLINS: Fin69er challenges you to a duel”
Hunter handed the phone back. ‘So this is him?’
‘Looks like it.’ Elvis flicked to another image of the car by Carrick Knowe golf course. ‘Narrows it down, right?’
‘All very interesting, Paul.’ Lauren was on her feet, arms hugging her body tight. ‘Where is it now?’
‘That’s the thing, Sarge.’ Elvis sniffed. ‘That’s the last camera. Doesn’t show up on anything after it.’
‘So it’s gone to ground?’
‘Looks like it.’ Elvis switched to another image and circled a vehicle at the bottom. ‘See there? It’s indicating left.’ He flicked to a maps app and traced his finger down the long stretch by the golf course. ‘Keep going down that street and you end up in Saughton, give or take a few wrong turns. Could be anywhere, so long as he keeps off the A71.’
‘So, we’re waiting until it’s flagged on the ANPR?’
‘If it’s flagged, Sarge, aye.’
Lauren shook her head, then frowned. ‘Are you telling us you haven’t got the full plate despite all this CCTV?’
‘Calm down. I ran Conan’s— Sorry, PC Hunter’s partial when it came in.’ Elvis tapped his phone again. Looked like another notification popped up. ‘This bad boy gives me the full shebang, not that there were many red Hyundais in Edinburgh.’
Lauren got to her feet and rubbed her arms. ‘All very interesting, but have you run the
full print?’
‘That’s right.’
Lauren gritted her teeth. Looked like she was fighting the urge to roll her eyes. ‘So you’ve found it?’
24
Hunter stopped on Mountcastle Terrace, a back street full of bungalows built from the same post-war kit as those in Corstorphine. Low-rise fifties or sixties things, all with mismatching attic conversions.
Someone had burnt bacon not too far away. Someone else was baking bread — rye sourdough, most likely.
David Boyle’s house was a semi-detached bungalow. A weeping birch rested in the middle of a monoblock drive, casting dappled shadows on the clay-red tiles. Place wasn’t too far from the Ferguson’s house. Might even back onto the same rat’s nest of paths running behind the garages and houses.
Hunter jabbed at his Airwave and nodded at Jain, as she scanned up and down the street. ‘Are all units in position, Steve?’
‘If by all units you mean me and Dave, aye, we are.’
Cheeky wanker.
Hunter marched over the empty grey-and-red chessboard of slabs leading up to the pebble-dashed house. He stopped inside the porch at the front door. ‘Well, just keep the engine ticking over and keep an eye out for any movement out the back.’
Sounded like Steve yawned. ‘Sure thing, Craig.’
Hunter cracked the brass knocker onto the door three times. The sound rattled down the quiet street.
Nothing.
Another three cracks.
Still nothing.
Hunter took a step back down the drive and peered in the window. Vertical blinds blocked the view. A thin crack in the middle showed Fake floorboards glowing orange in the mid-morning sunshine streaming in from the back garden. He glanced back at Jain, lost in her Airwave. ‘Nobody’s in, Sarge.’
‘Come on, then.’ Jain pocketed her handset and walked down the drive back to the street. She opened the next-door gate with a squeak and paced over the monoblock, pampas grass sprouting in the middle of a circle cut out of the brown bricks.
Hunter gave the doorbell a go. Bing bong sounds came from inside.
‘Just a second!’ A woman’s voice, her distorted figure growing in the security glass, until just a single eye was peeping out. The door slid open and she tilted her head at them, shrouded in the smell of baking bread. A silver-haired woman in her sixties. Her apron was covered in yellowy rye flour, a slogan above a cartoon wine glass just about visible — “You try coping with a retired husband!” She looked them up and down. ‘Yes?’
