by Ed James
Doug groaned and toppled over into the crimson pool.
A trickle of blood slid down from the corner of Jain’s mouth.
Hunter shook her shoulder. ‘Chantal, wake up!’
Nothing.
‘Come on!’ The shaking got harder, lifting her torso up. ‘Chantal!’
She groaned and more blood spilled out.
‘Come on!’
She blinked a couple of times, then opened her eyes. ‘What the—?’
‘Stay here!’ Hunter reached for his baton and limped over to the door, the stupid bastard knee finally locking. ‘Secure Stephanie!’ He jog-skipped through the house and hobbled out of the swinging door into the pissing rain.
Neil was ahead of him, running through the building site, twisting back to look at Hunter.
‘Stop!’ Hunter pounded after him, but he was only at half-speed, if that.
Neil burst into a house, three storeys of thin silver sheeting over wood. Rain battered off the tarpaulin covering the roof. Sounded like African drummers clattering sticks off drum skins.
Hunter entered the building baton first. Footsteps clomped up a ladder in the middle of the open area, propped up where a staircase would eventually be.
He put his baton between his teeth and started climbing. Hauled himself up onto the first floor and scanned around.
No sign of Neil.
Hunter knelt on the bare chipboard and slowly got to his feet, snapping out his baton. Tried to ignore the throbbing in his knee.
A punch hit his kidney and Hunter squirmed forward, trying to roll away. A kick caught him in the side. He caught the boot and tried to twist. It shook around, tearing his fingers away.
Hunter rocked himself back to sitting, arms flailing in front of him.
Neil stepped towards him, his blade glinting in the light coming through the window gap, raindrops flying in. ‘You should’ve stayed back.’
Hunter reached for his baton and held it up. Tried to flip himself upright, but his knee wasn’t having it.
Neil lashed out with the blade.
Hunter parried with the baton and sent the knife scurrying across the bare wood. He rolled onto his knees and raised his baton like a lucky charm.
Neil feinted left and darted right, punching Hunter’s hand and sending the baton flying. He followed through with a swift right to the throat.
Hunter tumbled backwards and landed on his back. Chest heaving, he pulled himself up to standing.
Neil was halfway up the second ladder.
Hunter picked up his baton again and lashed out, just missing Neil’s foot, the metal clinking off the wood and vibrating up his arm.
Neil raced up to the roof. Nowhere to go but—
Bollocks…
Hunter gripped the ladder and started climbing up, quick as his knee and back would let him. He pulled himself through the opening and rolled over the floor, getting up in one fluid movement.
No sign of Neil.
The top floor was a wide open space, not yet partitioned into rooms. The roof tapered up to a point above his head, rain cannoning off the tarpaulin as it flapped in the breeze.
Thunk.
Movement by a window hole at the back.
Hunter jogged over the boards. ‘Stop!’
Neil stood gripping the silver sides of the hole, facing Hunter. He looked behind him, his tongue flicking over his lips.
‘You honestly thought you’d get away with this whole thing?’
‘I’ve nothing to lose.’ Neil took a step back into thin air.
Hunter jumped forward and grabbed Neil’s trailing leg. He fumbled at it, but the foot slipped out of his grasp. Neil fell backwards, the yank on his leg flipping him over as he tumbled through the window gap one floor down.
Hunter got up and ran back over to the ladder. He slid down the outside, fireman-style, stumbling over as he landed.
Neil was on his feet, lurching towards the ladder to the ground floor while gripping his left arm, all mangled and bloody.
Hunter ran over and caught him with a kick to the spine, sending him sprawling against the silver wooden frame. He grabbed Neil’s arm and twisted it behind his back, digging his knee into the prone man’s spine and pinning his other arm down.
‘Neil Alexander, I’m arresting you for the murder of Robert Quarrie. You do not have to say anything—’
42
‘—a long time.’ Hunter pushed Neil out onto the street, cuffed and defeated. ‘A very, very long time.’
Neil stumbled over and fell face first into the mud. Didn’t move.
Here we bloody go again.
‘The joys of being in uniform, eh?’ Cullen got out of a battered bottle-green Golf. Surely not the same one he used to drive? He waved at two uniforms behind him, Dave and Steve. ‘Secure the suspect and take him to Leith Walk.’
‘Sarge.’ Dave sniffed. ‘Getting him up’s going to be a bit of a challenge. He’s a floppy fucker, isn’t he?’
‘There’s another two units on their way.’ Cullen dug his key into the lock and twisted it, peering into the car like he was checking all the locks were down. ‘Get them to help if you need it.’ He wandered over, shaking his head, and took Hunter to the side. ‘You did good here.’
‘Right. Thanks, I suppose.’
‘Like old times. You and me catching some proper arseholes.’
Keep telling yourself that.
Hunter folded his arms. ‘Except last time, you worked for me.’
‘Is that what this is all about?’
‘No, Scott, it’s about you shagging my fiancée.’
‘I don’t expect you to get over that, but I’m not the same guy, okay?’
Hunter couldn’t look Cullen in the eye, just kept focused on Dave and Steve’s efforts to get Neil on his feet. ‘How’s Finlay?’
‘Broken back.’ Cullen waved over at a receding ambulance, giving a blast of siren as it powered past a load of rubbernecking workers. ‘Doesn’t look good. Paramedic’s face went white. Said he’d snapped at least four vertebrae.’
Hunter collapsed back against the car. Jesus Christ… Bile burned his throat, his gullet kept popping. He swallowed the lump down.
Finlay… Jesus.
Hunter stumbled forward, catching himself on the top of the car. The guy wasn’t the best, but… Did he deserve that?
And it’s no one’s fault but mine. Him going upstairs alone… Idiot. Should’ve secured the downstairs, then…
Then Neil Alexander could’ve shinned down the scaffolding and got away. Wouldn’t have seen where he’d gone. Doug Ferguson would look like he was in a butcher’s window instead of being in hospital. Stephanie might’ve killed him and had real blood on her hands, rather than second-hand fingerprints.
‘That’s another one on me. I should’ve stopped it. Christ.’
‘It was you or him, mate.’ Cullen slapped him on the shoulder, swallowing hard. ‘Had something similar happen to me a few years ago. An ADC got stabbed as we caught this guy.’ He shut his eyes. ‘Not a day goes by when I don’t…’
Hunter wiped at his mouth. Needed a gallon of water to get rid of the taste.
‘How’s Stephanie?’
Cullen thumbed back down the road. ‘Chantal’s secured her. Another squad car’s going to take her back to Leith Walk.’
An ambulance pulled in by the house, the blue lights flashing and reflecting in the puddles.
‘And Doug Ferguson?’
A gurney emerged from the house, two paramedics speeding down the drive.
‘He’s still breathing.’
Hunter snorted just as Neil Alexander was finally hauled to his feet. ‘Turns out he wasn’t very good at this stabbing lark.’
‘Just about good enough for Robert Quarrie. How you doing, Craig?’
‘I’ll live.’ Hunter stretched out his leg. ‘Knee’s knackered, but I’ll live.’
‘I meant about seeing—’
Hunter shook his head and tightened his stab-p
roof. ‘So, what’s going to happen now?’
‘First, you need to get changed. You look like you’ve been mud-wrestling.’ Cullen zipped up his jacket. ‘Then you’re going to come back to Leith Walk and we’re going to get to the bottom of this bloody mess.’
Hunter parked the pool car and got out, spilled diesel burning his nose. The flickering of a strip light caught on the shiny hide of a black Range Rover next to him.
‘Craig, there you are.’ Lauren stormed over from the stairwell, lugging a sheaf of papers. Looked like she hadn’t slept in weeks — red eyes and dark rings. She frowned and checked her watch. ‘I’m just off to the hospital.’
‘I’m accepting full blame for what happened to Finlay. Nobody deserves that.’
‘You mean it was his fault?’ Lauren snorted. ‘If he endangered himself, then you can’t cover for him.’ She zipped up her fleece. ‘Anyway, Stephanie and Neil are still awaiting their lawyers.’ She handed him the paper. ‘And Elv— DC Gordon has been looking through Stephanie’s emails and Facebook messages.’
You really do love your paper…
Hunter started sifting through the stack. Looked like an extract of the Facebook messages between Neil and Stephanie.
Lauren tapped at a page halfway through. ‘See this here? They were talking about running away together.’
Hunter exhaled. ‘She told us Doug wanted her to do that with him.’
Lauren snatched the pages off him. ‘And this one here.’ More prodding at the paper. ‘She sent him this message first thing yesterday morning. “Police here! Help!” That make any sense to you?’
‘Terrific.’ Hunter rubbed at the back of his head. His crown had crusted over but still ached like a bastard. ‘She was on the computer when we broke into Gaynor Tait’s flat.’
‘Well, Neil replied “Be there soon.” So he turned up and attacked you.’
‘And took her.’
‘Well, she went with him by the looks of things. It’s more of a rescue. And there’s this.’ Lauren flicked to the last message, the metadata showing three o’clock that afternoon. ‘See this? “Worked like a charm. He thought I was you, babe.” That’s when Neil killed Robert Quarrie.’
Hunter snatched the document off her, just as a car trundled along behind them, the engine rattling to its death. ‘This is a good start, but it’s not enough.’
‘No, but this might be.’ Lauren picked out a print of some CCTV footage, the greyscale image burnt almost white by the sunlight. ‘Neil Alexander arriving at the flat in Cramond…’
‘That’ll do. Cheers, Sarge.’
‘I’ll be about an hour.’ Lauren opened the car door and stopped. ‘Craig, this car is a cesspit.’ The driver’s seat was as soiled as a cat’s litter tray. ‘This is going to need a valet to get that whole lot clean.’
‘Sorry, Sarge.’
‘I’ll have to take my own bloody car.’ Lauren marched off through the car park, shaking her head.
Hunter stared down at his legs. Most of the mud had washed off, but it looked like he’d been fly fishing without waders. How quickly Hollywood chases gave way to dirty trousers and stalled careers…
A car door slammed on the other side. ‘Craig? You okay?’
Hunter opened his eyes and looked over.
Jain was frowning at him as she crossed the street. Dave and Steve were in the front of the squad car, both pointing fingers at him and laughing.
‘Chantal…’ Hunter rubbed his eyes and averted his head. He hefted up the papers. ‘We’ve got enough evidence to put Neil away.’
‘That’s all fine and good.’ She grasped his bicep, barely getting halfway round, but her fingers digging in all the same. ‘What happened in the house?’
Hunter stopped and leaned against a pillar, far enough away from those two pricks, their wagging fingers, and their banter.
‘When Finlay fell out of the window, you just stood there. You had a flashback, didn’t you?’
Hunter sighed, his breath getting stuck halfway out. ‘Thought I was past them, you know?’
‘You never get over it. You just learn to cope with it.’
‘What happened to Finlay… Reminded me of my squad mate in Iraq. Big lump from Leytonstone, Terry Saunders. Big Cockney guy, bit of a twat, but, you know…’ Hunter shivered, feeling it all the way down his spine. ‘I was back there. Could feel the heat on my neck. Smell the roasting goat.’ He screwed his eyes tight, trying to squeeze the last drop of tears out. ‘I could smell Terry’s burnt body.’
She wrapped a hug around him, snuggling her head into his chin. ‘It’s okay.’
Hunter swallowed deep, sucking in the smell of her hair. The rain had freshened the shampoo scent, some distant herbs tasting like mountain air. ‘You were right.’
She looked up at him, frowning. ‘I’m always right.’
Two car doors slammed within a second of each other and Hunter broke off. ‘I meant about Stephanie. Neil was controlling her.’
Jain sighed as Dave and Steve wandered past. ‘It’s not bad enough that Doug Ferguson and Robert Quarrie did what they did to her, he’s got to make it worse. Controlling her like that, it’s just twisting the knife in her guts.’ Her turn to wipe at her cheeks. ‘She can recover from what’s happened to her. Given time, counselling and a shitload of drugs. Catching her in this revenge-murder plot… You don’t come back from murdering someone.’
‘You think she’s innocent here?’
‘What, you don’t?’
‘The more I think about it, the more it all falls apart. She approached Neil. She told him what Doug was doing to her.’
‘Craig, she’s the victim here.’
‘I’m not so sure.’ Hunter started off across the concrete. ‘But we need to find out.’
‘Is that so?’ Hunter left his seat and stalked around the interview room, rounding the giant figure of Neil Alexander, slumped forward in the chair. He locked eyes with Jain and returned to his seat. The attempt at intimidation didn’t seem to have made any difference to Neil. ‘We know you stabbed Doug Ferguson, Mr Alexander, because we saw you do it. It’s touch and go whether he lives or dies, but, either way, you’ll be going away for a very long time.’
Neil smirked at him. ‘Really.’
Hunter waved a hand at the lawyer next to him, the sort of dead-eyed Legal Aid vulture who’d represent an open-and-shut murderer at the drop of a hat. ‘Your lawyer here’s seen the evidence. You murdered Robert Quarrie. We will be throwing a lot of crimes your way.’ He started counting off on his fingers. ‘Abduction, resisting arrest, providing a false alibi, motor theft. One murder and one attempted murder. Trust me, you’re going away for a very long time.’ He gave him some space. Just the sound of the lawyer writing and Neil’s foot tapping on the floor. ‘Did you kill Robert Quarrie?’
Neil looked at his lawyer and shook his head. Then back at Jain, then Hunter. ‘Fine. I killed him. Happy?’ He shrugged his slouching shoulders. ‘I don’t regret a single thing, other than you stopping Steph from killing Doug Ferguson. I just wish it was a double murder charge.’
‘I don’t get it. Why did you do it?’
Neil reached across the table, running his tongue around the tip of his lips. ‘Listen, you’re a police officer, right?’
‘Well spotted.’
‘Don’t you get fed up with the way the world is?’ Neil raised his arms like a preacher. ‘All the work you do, back shifts and night shifts. Watching your back on holiday in case someone you put away spots you. And all you’re doing is scraping away at the surface.’ He put his fingers together in a steeple. ‘When I was younger, I used to be an idealist. In the union, out canvassing every day. Vote Labour, then vote SWP, then it’s for independence. But it just wasn’t enough. Trying to get the world to change, trying to get it to be a better place. But it just gets worse. I’m just one man. Even with a political party, you can’t change things. You can’t change America or Russia or China or the EU.’
‘Is this
stuff you’ve read in your books?’
‘My books… Everything I’ve read makes me realise you can’t change anything. You can’t fix the world, not on your own. The politicians are making the world worse for everyone. Everything’s for the one percent. The zero point one percent. They all stick their money in tax havens, while us who can least afford pay more than our fair share. They’re hiding money away, money which should be contributing to schools and hospitals and the police force.’
‘We could’ve charged Doug with abusing Stephanie if you’d let us.’
‘Aye? And he’d have got, what, four years like her old man? Four years for ruining that girl’s life.’ Neil paused, spit dribbling down his chin. ‘I’ve read about the Black Panthers, Nation of Islam and the IRA. It was all academic until I read about the Revolutionary Front in Sweden.’ He slid his fingernails through his long hair, combing it back. ‘They took action against fascists, vigilante action and property attacks. I’ve been involved in Anti-Fascist groups since I was sixteen, but it’s toothless. Just campaigning and sit-down protests and shouting in the streets.’ He nibbled at his fingernails. ‘This was my chance to do something. To make a difference in the world. To change one girl’s life for the better.’
43
Hunter sat back and nodded at Stephanie’s solicitor, same as Gaynor Tait. ‘State your name for the record.’
‘Alastair Reynolds.’ He yawned, just about covering his mouth. Didn’t look much older than Stephanie. ‘Can we get going, please?’
‘Sure.’ Hunter waited for the nod from Jain, then smiled at Stephanie. ‘Miss Ferguson, I’d like to start with asking why you’ve been hiding from us?’
She tugged at a long strand of hair. ‘I’m not hiding from you.’
‘Well, that doesn’t stack up with the events, does it?’ Hunter flicked through a pile of paper in front of him, but kept Stephanie from seeing any of the contents. ‘You ran away from the hospital.’ He passed the first sheet over, a time-stamped still from the CCTV footage. ‘For the tape, I’m showing P dash oh one oh. This shows you running away from your hospital room.’
