by Ed James
‘Aye and some bastard stole it.’
Hunter sat back in his chair. ‘You expect us to believe that?’
‘Look, my car got nicked last night. That’s why I’m here!’
‘Why are you only reporting it missing now?’
‘Look, hen, I’ve got a van for my work.’ Boyle ran his lolling tongue over his lips and sniffed. ‘Didn’t notice my motor’d gone till Nancy told me this morning.’
‘Nancy’s your wife?’ Hunter frowned at Jain. ‘We understood she’d left you?’
‘You been speaking to that battleaxe next door?’ Boyle sniffed a frown onto his face. ‘Nancy moved back in a couple of months ago. Things’ve been good since.’
‘How do you know your car went missing last night as opposed to, say, the day before?’
‘Because I took it for a spin yesterday lunchtime. Doesn’t sit well that motor. Needs a daily drive up to Asda to keep it ticking over.’ Boyle scratched his chin. ‘Well, it could’ve been snatched this morning, right enough.’
‘Do you know Mr Ferguson’s stepdaughter, Stephanie?’
‘Stepdaughter?’ The mouth hinged open again, like the drawbridge on a medieval castle. ‘Stephanie’s not his kid?’
‘That’s correct. So you do know her?’
‘A bit. Dougie had a barbie round at his for his birthday. Middle of June, I think. I went along.’ Boyle chuckled, the first time his mouth had properly shut. ‘Got pretty banjaxed, as it happens.’
‘How did she seem?’
Boyle’s jaw went slack again. ‘Great wee kid. Full of the joys of Spring, you know?’
Hunter noted it down and looked up. ‘Was that the last time you saw Stephanie?’
‘Steph? No, she was at their house when I took her old man home on Saturday night. Boy was out of his tree.’ Boyle shook his head. ‘Can’t believe she’s not his real daughter, man.’
‘Do you know where Miss Ferguson is just now?’
‘Should I, pal?’
‘You’ve not taken her for Mr Ferguson?’
‘What? This is a load of bullshit.’ Boyle got to his feet and snarled at them. ‘I’ve not taken her nowhere!’
‘Sit down, sir.’
‘I can go, right?’
‘You can, but we’ll be around your house picking you up when we get the arrest warrant.’
‘Arrest warrant?’
‘Miss Ferguson has gone missing.’
‘Well, I’ve had hee haw to do with it, you hear?’
‘Sit.’
‘Christ, man.’ Boyle slouched on his chair, scraping it back halfway to the wall. ‘She’s gone missing?’
‘We tracked her to an address in Clermiston.’ Hunter licked his index finger and danced backwards through his notebook. ‘Unfortunately, Ms Ferguson was abducted by someone driving a red Hyundai with plates matching your car.’
Boyle shifted his gaze around the room, his teeth making a vain attempt to meet without quite managing. ‘What are you talking about, pal?’
Jain gave him a wide grin. ‘Seems very convenient how your car went walkies and was later seen by my colleague here abducting your friend’s stepdaughter.’
Boyle’s lips started twitching, still giving a good view of his lolling tongue. ‘Wasn’t me driving.’
‘But you were in it, right?’
‘No way. No way at all.’
‘Where were you this morning between eight and nine o’clock?’
‘On the phone to my lawyer.’ Boyle frowned. ‘Buying a new house, mate. Joppa.’
‘House phone or mobile?’
‘Moby, why?’
‘We’ll need their contact details.’ Hunter scribbled it down. ‘And where were you between five and seven last night?’
‘You honestly think I’m doing something here?’
‘Just answer.’
‘Working. I’m a plumber. How I ken Dougie.’
‘Okay, so your customers should be able to back up your location?’
‘Aye, well, I wasn’t on site. I was on the laptop in the conservatory. Had a load of jobs to price up.’
‘Alone?’
‘Nancy wasnae back from her work, so aye.’
‘You didn’t go out for a run or anything?’
‘Eh?’ Boyle’s face twisted up like a sun-dried tomato. ‘I had a beer with the work, that’s it. Bottle of Peroni, if you must know. One of the big ones.’
Hunter noted it, not that it proved anything. ‘How come I saw you outside Mr Ferguson’s house?’
Boyle started panting hard, eyes shuttling back and forth between Hunter and Jain. ‘Eh?’
‘Doug Ferguson lives on Mountcastle Green, correct?’
‘That’s where the barbie was, aye?’
‘Well, I saw you there last night.’
‘What? Shite you did.’
‘So if I go to your house with a search warrant, I’ll not find a black T-shirt and grey trackies, maybe covered in grass? Or a pair of boots with greenhouse glass stuck in the soles?’
Boyle snorted air out and stared up at the ceiling. He shook his head and locked his eyes back on Hunter. ‘It wasnae me you saw.’
‘You do know that Stephanie alleges Doug was abusing her, right?’
Boyle closed his eyes and his jaw hung fully open. ‘What did you say?’
‘Been going on for a while, apparently. You wouldn’t know anything about it, would you?’
Boyle’s hands fell to the table with a clunk from his wedding ring. ‘You’re shiteing me, right?’
‘I’m not in the business of doing that, no.’ Hunter dropped his pen and splayed his hands on the table top. ‘Were you aware of this?’
‘You’re saying he’s been beasting young Steph?’ Boyle grunted a few times, like he was considering going on a quest for fire. ‘I knew nothing about it, all right? It’s not the sort of thing you bring up in the pub, is it? “Oh aye, I was just fucking my daughter.” Give me a break.’
‘So you’re not in league with him?’
‘In league? What’s that supposed to mean? I wasn’t playing pool with him, if that’s what you’re saying.’
‘I mean, you weren’t sharing videos or photos with him?’
‘Are you calling me a paedo?’ Boyle hauled his jaw up, lips just about meeting. ‘Look, I was doing a mate a solid. That’s it. If he’s a…’ He swallowed hard, his nostrils flaring wide. ‘If he’s a paedo, then I’ll be at the front of the queue to boot the shite out of him.’
‘So. Was it you in the garden?’
‘I’m saying nothing, pal.’
‘Have you had any contact with Mr Ferguson since yesterday morning?’
‘No.’ Boyle slurped at his lips. ‘But…’
‘Go on.’
‘His lawyer did call us up…’
Hunter rested his head in his hands. He winced at the flash of pain from his crown. Managed to catch his breath again. ‘Mr Ferguson, it seems to me that you’d benefit greatly from Stephanie’s disappearance.’
‘Whatever. Like I say, I’ve not seen the lassie since yesterday lunchtime.’ Doug slumped in his chair with a squeak. Guy looked defeated and drawn, like he’d aged two years in as many days. ‘You lot have had me locked up in here, so how could I kidnap my lassie?’
‘You being here doesn’t stop you getting a message out via certain channels.’ Hunter glared over at Williams, the lawyer gazing at his legal pad.
‘I don’t appreciate the insinuation.’ Williams didn’t even look up, just kept on writing, slowly, steady and even.
Hunter gave an exaggerated shrug to Doug. ‘Well, you’ll be glad to know that Mr Boyle’s now down a red Hyundai, but up a friendly paedophile.’
‘You what?’ Doug leaned forward, elbows on the table, hands on his face. ‘Why the hell did you have to tell him about that shite, eh?’
‘Don’t you think he deserves to know that his friend’s been accused of a serious crime?’
‘It’s just that daft wee lassi
e telling lies.’ Doug pointed a finger at Hunter. ‘You could ruin my whole bloody life here, pal.’
‘As I’m sure you’ll appreciate, it’s Stephanie’s life being ruined that has me worried right now. But speaking of your former friend Mr Boyle, he was lurking around your house, seemingly at the instruction of Mr Williams.’
‘Constable, I ask that you defer from involving me directly in this case.’
‘Only if you stop dropping yourself into it.’
‘Au contraire! Dropping is what you should be doing, namely this tissue of lies. Immediately.’
Hunter held up a sheet of paper. ‘I’ve got a statement from Mr Boyle saying—’
Williams snatched the page from Hunter and scanned it, lips moving as he read. Seconds later, he folded it in half and placed it in his document holder. ‘Mr Boyle is clearly confused as to the contents of our conversation. I was extending my client’s concern at the disappearance of his stepdaughter and enquiring as to whether Mr Boyle had seen Miss Ferguson or had any information which would lead you, the police, to finding her.’
‘If that’s the case, why did Mr Boyle think it was okay to hang about in their back garden? Why did he run away when we approached?’
‘I am unable to comment as I do not represent Mr Boyle.’
Doug waved a hand in front of Williams. ‘Look, Davie Boyle’s a mate, okay? When I heard she’d gone missing, I just wanted Steph to be safe. Needed somebody I could trust to see what’s what at the house. So I got a message out to the boy.’
‘You expect us to believe that?’
‘It’s the truth.’
‘Sounds like you’ve been stalking her.’
‘Piss off.’
‘Or attempting to coerce her into changing or recanting her statement.’
Williams stopped scribbling. ‘You have evidence of any exchanges, hostile coercive or otherwise, hmm?’
‘Mr Ferguson.’ Jain rested on her elbows and started rubbing her hands together. ‘Stephanie told us you wanted to run away with her.’
‘What?’ Doug scowled at her. ‘Well, that’s … nonsense. She’s just a daft wee lassie.’
‘Didn’t stop you abusing her, did it?’
‘I did nothing with her. Nothing.’ Doug sat back and shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. ‘And there’s no bloody way I’d … run away with her. What do you think I am?’
‘You should be aware of what we think you are, sir.’
‘Well, it’s complete bullshit.’ Doug took his hands out of his pockets, then gripped his thighs tight. He stared over at his lawyer but got nothing in response.
Williams continued his documentation. Or maybe he was handwriting a novel. Stranger things had happened.
‘Listen, I’ve been thinking about what you said, right?’ Doug beat his wrists off the table edge, three times each in quick succession. ‘That wee bitch is spreading a pack of lies about me. Christ knows why, I’ve only ever been loving and caring towards her.’ Another three beats, harder this time. ‘So, anyway, I’ve been thinking about how I can prove my innocence. She said I … interfered with her on Monday night, right?’
Jain sifted back through her notebook, her focus still on Doug.
‘Look, whatever, that’s what you told my brief here.’ Doug clenched his jaw and did another few beats with his wrist. Then flashed a grin at Jain. ‘See, the thing is, I was with my pal all night.’
26
Hunter marched across the Logie Mill car park towards a two-storey brick building, an office someone had mistaken for a shitty retail development. A group of men stood outside, some sucking on vape sticks, most smoking old-school fags. He stopped and stared up at the logo. Summers Actuarial Services. ‘What’s actua—’
‘My brother’s an actuary.’ Jain pushed through the group into the building, a wide-open space with just a few suits sitting round. ‘It’s something to do with insurance and pensions.’
‘I love the precision.’ Hunter walked over to the desk and got the attention of the receptionist, a woman in her early twenties whose drawn-on eyebrows were as obvious as her boredom. ‘Looking for an Alec Wishart.’
The receptionist waved across the room. ‘That’s him over there.’
A man was sitting in the chair opposite, kneading his giant forehead, which seemed to stretch all the way back to his shirt collar, like a car with the sunroof open. His thin goatee was barely ten hairs radius around his tiny little mouth, and his suit looked like it cost at least four figures. ‘I’ve told you on the phone, I’ve nothing to say to you.’
Hunter went over and hovered at the edge of the man’s comfort zone. ‘I can’t force you to come with us, but your name has been given as an alibi and we need to obtain a statement from you.’
‘I’ve nothing to say.’
Hunter crouched down next to him. ‘Are you acquainted with a Douglas Ferguson?’
Despite himself, Wishart made eye contact, if only for a split second. ‘What’s he done?’
‘We need to clarify his movements with you.’ Hunter got back up, his knees popping like a champagne cork. An even sharper blast of sound surged from behind as a door opened. Radio noise and people shouting over it. ‘Is there somewhere—’
‘Here, Eck, what’s this prick want?’ A lump of muscle and hate loomed over Hunter, at least six six. ‘You picking on him?’
‘I just need to speak to Mr Wishart about—’
BANG.
A meaty fist clattered into Hunter’s stomach. A second into his jaw. He tumbled backwards, clambering over Jain, the pair of them rolling over the floor tiles.
The man mountain stood over them, looking like he was away to stick the boot in. ‘You leave him alone, all right?’
Hunter reached into his pocket for his warrant card. ‘I’m a police officer, you stupid bastard.’
The bravado crumpled faster than he could say ‘Aw shite.’
‘You’re getting arrested.’ Hunter got up to his aching knees and helped Jain up. Then he jabbed a finger in Wishart’s sternum. ‘And as for you… We’re doing this down the station.’
Standing outside the interview room, Hunter wolfed down a bite of a canteen egg sandwich. Bloody awful and no way to know how free-range the eggs were. No time to make anything and that piece box had gone missing…
You were never bloody safe in this game. Some lump of muscle was always lurking around the bloody corner, working in a mailroom but thinking he was Jack Reacher.
Big arsehole was going away for a little holiday after this one.
Another bite and his jaw clicked as he chewed.
‘Did you get me one?’ Jain stopped and rested against the interview room door.
‘Cheese and tomato.’ Hunter tossed a triangular box over to her. ‘I spared you the egg.’
‘Great.’ She tore it open and bit into the first half, covering her mouth as she chewed. ‘Alec Wishart’s lawyer turned up yet?’
Hunter tapped a boot against the interview room door. ‘Decided he didn’t want one after all.’
‘Bloody hell.’ She swallowed down a mouthful, like that’s all it deserved. Just fuel to keep hungry cops going. ‘Sharon’s happy with where we’ve got to, by the way.’
‘I’m not.’ Hunter finished his sandwich and put his hand on the door. ‘I’ll get this started, okay?’
‘Aye, go on.’
Hunter entered the room and sat down. ‘DS Jain will be in shortly.’ He jotted down the date and time as he tried to stretch out his jaw. ‘Then we’ll get going, sir.’
‘I can only apologise for Billy’s actions…’
‘I see. Paid minder, is he?’
‘He’s just a friend. Gets a bit boisterous at times.’ Wishart ran a finger around his beard. If anyone looked like a tabloid paedophile… ‘Listen, I really need to get back to the office. I’ve got a client—’
‘Then the quicker we get started…’ Hunter got the recorder playing. ‘Interview commenced at twelve thirty-eight. I’m
PC Craig Hunter.’ He nodded at Wishart. ‘State your name for the record, please.’
‘Alexander Hamilton Wishart.’
‘And you’re an actuary, is that correct?’
‘Work down at Powderhall. Summers Actuarial Services.’ Wishart’s smile just came off as nervous. ‘What’s this—’
Jain walked into the room, chewing furiously as she crumpled the sandwich box up and dumped it in the bin. She gave Hunter a nod — get stuck in, sunshine.
‘DS Chantal Jain has entered the room.’ Hunter waited until she’d got herself settled. ‘Mr Wishart, are you acquainted with one Douglas Ferguson of Mountcastle Green, Edinburgh?’
‘That’s right. My brother worked for him. We hit it off at a party at his and we lived near each other. Used to drink together in Scottie’s.’
‘Used to?’
‘Well, I don’t drink anymore.’
Hunter noted it down and circled it a few times. ‘So you’re, what, good mates with Mr Ferguson?’
‘Not great mates, but enough to talk about football or politics over a pint of eighty shilling.’ Wishart coughed. ‘Back in the day, of course.’
‘I understand Mr Ferguson met his wife through you.’
Wishart flicked his tongue left to right. ‘Well, Pauline’s my sister’s pal. Knows her from school.’
‘Are there any other members of your family involved in this story?’
‘Just Kath.’ Wishart went back to scratching his forehead. ‘Look, I drank with Doug for a few years in Scottie’s. Kind of a local thing, right? You just show up and see who’s there. Got chatting to him about the football one day. This went on for a few months until one Friday night, after a fair few pints and whiskies, he started going on about wanting to settle down.’
And the alarm bells start ringing again…
Hunter wrote it down verbatim and circled settle down. ‘So you set him up with Pauline?’
‘Kath’d been saying how Pauline was just getting to the stage where she wanted to think about dating again after her marriage fell apart.’
Jain flicked up both eyebrows. ‘That’s an interesting way of putting it.’
‘What is?’
‘Continue…’
