Craig Hunter Books 1-3

by Ed James

  ‘Stop!’ A male voice came from the direction of the bar.

  Hunter swung round, wary of putting his back to Ricky. ‘Aw, shite.’

  Inspector João Quaresma marched towards them, flanked by a pair of brutish uniformed officers. ‘Stop right there!’

  35

  CHANTAL

  * * *

  All we bloody need…

  ‘He’s all yours, officer.’ Chantal pointed back the way then put her hands up. Act innocent, don’t give them a decision to make. ‘He was going to kill her.’ She leaned in close to whisper, ‘Keep our cover.’

  Quaresma peered over at Ricky.

  Kerry was crouching by her husband, still brandishing her knife. ‘Keep the hell away from us!’

  ‘Typical British behaviour.’ Quaresma waved for the two uniforms next to him to take over. ‘Leve-os de volta para a esquadra.’

  The bigger of the two nodded, then smiled at Kerry. ‘Madam, give me the knife.’

  Kerry dropped it on the patio and hugged her husband tight. ‘I love you, Ricky.’

  ‘These two…’ Quaresma started off down the lane back towards reception. ‘We got a call and I was driving past. On my way to something of critical importance. This call made me think of you two.’

  ‘It’s a coincidence.’ Chantal rubbed at her arm, a rash puckering the flesh halfway up. ‘We intervened to stop him killing her. Ended up the other way round.’

  Quaresma rolled a tongue over his lips. ‘Mr Hunter, from what I saw, you assaulted a foreign national on my territory.’

  Hunter’s turn to raise his hands. ‘Completely self-defence.’ He rubbed a hand across his throat, already turning purple. ‘He went for me. Grabbed me. I took him down.’

  Quaresma narrowed his eyes at Chantal. ‘Sergeant, we agreed that you get my approval first, yes?’

  ‘This wasn’t an—’

  ‘No questions, no exceptions.’ Quaresma stopped by a squad car next to an Audi. ‘Mr Hunter, do I have your word?’

  Hunter bowed his head. ‘You’ve got my word.’

  ‘And you, Ms Jain?’

  ‘We’ll call you next time.’

  ‘Then we have an understanding.’ Quaresma grinned at Hunter, his face lighting up like a little kid at Christmas. ‘Was that Krav Maga?’

  Hunter lifted a shoulder. ‘I know a bit.’

  ‘A bit?’ Quaresma laughed. ‘You should be in the UFC!’

  ‘Hardly.’

  Quaresma’s face darkened again. Prick could change like the wind. He waved at the uniforms as they led Ricky and Kerry to the car. ‘We’re going to put the fear of God into these two.’

  Ricky snarled at them as the cops forced him into the back. ‘You pair of wankers!’

  Chantal caught Quaresma’s door as he opened it. ‘Look, we’ve got some intel on Tulloch’s whereabouts.’

  Quaresma stood up tall with a huff, his eyes tracing the car’s route up to the main road. The glint was gone from his eyes. ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘We believe he’s down the Strip.’

  ‘Sergeant.’ Quaresma waved his hand around the area. ‘Stick to these parts, please. Much safer for you and your partner.’

  ‘But Tulloch’s not here.’

  Quaresma licked his lips again. ‘Keep yourselves to yourselves. Tomorrow, I give you some men.’

  ‘Tomorrow’s not good enough.’

  ‘Tomorrow is good enough, my friend.’ Quaresma put his fists up in the air and grinned at Hunter. ‘Just don’t fight me, eh?’

  ‘We need to get him tonight.’ Hunter folded his arms, his biceps bulging. ‘He might be gone tomorrow.’

  ‘Listen to me.’ Quaresma rested a hand on Hunter’s back and one on Chantal’s. ‘My friends, we have a high-profile case from your country already. That is my priority. Until we find the boy.’

  Chantal shrugged off his hand. ‘So what you’re saying is, if I go to the press with our case, you’ll give us some support?’

  Quaresma held her gaze, his eyes full of ice. ‘You are very funny.’ He opened the car door wide. ‘You keep to this area, okay?’

  ‘Fine.’

  Quaresma got into the black Audi and gunned the engine. A final wave and the car tore up the hill to the main road.

  Chantal folded her arms, her right hand playing with the rash. ‘What a disaster.’

  ‘Look, we saved her life.’ Hunter wrapped his arms around her and kissed her on the head. ‘They’ll prosecute him for that. One wife-beating arsehole off the street is a result.’

  ‘Sounded like she gave as good as she got.’ She collapsed into Hunter’s embrace, her back against this stomach, and let out a monster sigh. ‘Jesus, I’m so pissed.’

  Hunter kneaded her shoulders. ‘You’ve done very well, Mrs Bond.’

  ‘Ms Bond, thank you very much.’ Chantal stared at the road. Quaresma’s Audi droned away into the distance, louder than the rest of the traffic. ‘That clown’s just getting in the bloody way.’ She waved up at the main street, the karaoke bar out of view. ‘Meanwhile, Tulloch’s in this town, up to shenanigans. We need to get him.’

  ‘You heard what Quaresma said.’

  She reached round to wink at him. ‘He likes you. We should use that.’

  ‘Not sure how.’ Hunter gripped her shoulder where it hurt the most. Heaven…

  Chantal sorted out her hair, smoothing it down. ‘This is above our pay grades.’

  Chantal stabbed a finger on her screen and stuck it on speaker. She laid it on the bed between them. Then huffed out air. Here we go…

  The light outside was dimming to an early evening glow. Way earlier than in Scotland, but the heat was still there, still hotter than the warmest Scottish day.

  ‘Afternoon, Chantal.’ Could almost hear Sharon’s grin down the line. ‘Just left the beach, have you?’

  ‘Hardly.’ Chantal yawned into her fist and blinked hard a few times. How many more coffees can I drink? Another yawn hit her in the face. ‘We’ve been working hard.’

  ‘You’re slurring, you daft mare.’ Sharon sighed down the line. ‘Tell me you’ve not been drinking since you got there?’

  ‘It’s our cover, Shaz.’ Chantal picked up the phone and scowled at it. ‘Did you get my text?’

  ‘Aye, something about a possible location on Tulloch blah blah blah. And a cock block? What?’

  ‘Quaresma, our liaison, is blocking any progress. We know where Tulloch’s going to be tonight. He won’t give us any officers. So, any suggestions?’

  Sharon sighed then left a pause. Sounded like someone shouted ‘She was over eighteen!’ in the background. ‘Like we discussed, we have to progress through the local cops.’

  ‘Quaresma isn’t playing ball. This missing kid’s taking up all their time and we… had an incident.’

  A deeper sigh crackled the speaker. ‘Christ on a moped, what have you done now?’

  ‘Some knuckle-dragging squaddie was battering his wife. We stopped him.’ She flashed Hunter a wink. ‘We should try and claim credit for it.’

  ‘You’ve got no jurisdiction over there, Chantal.’

  Chantal stabbed a finger in the air. ‘Quaresma isn’t helping us at all. In fact, he’s told us to stick to the hotel area.’

  ‘Which is where Tulloch is, right?’

  ‘He’s a mile away, tops.’

  The line went silent again. The same voice shouted ‘Eighteen!’

  Hunter got up and started pacing the room.

  ‘Right, I’ll speak to his superiors, see if I can chivvy things along.’ Another Sharon sigh. ‘But you need to listen to what Quaresma says, okay? I don’t want you messing this up because you’ve pissed him off.’

  Chantal rolled her eyes. ‘Like I would.’

  ‘Did you say this guy was a squaddie?’

  ‘From Manchester or something.’ Chantal tried to fend off another yawn. ‘We’ve met a few soldiers here. Seems to be armed forces week off.’

  ‘Right. Well, it’s been
all quiet from Rollo-Smith. Not sure that’s a good thing.’

  ‘So, how do you want us to progress?’

  ‘How’s your double bed?’

  ‘Aye, very funny.’ Chantal shook her head at the phone. ‘Sort out Quaresma, okay?’ She ended the call and tossed her mobile on the bed. ‘Christ’s sake.’

  The bed squeaked as Hunter knelt behind her and started rubbing her shoulders again. ‘Think she’ll get anywhere with Quaresma’s bosses?’

  Right, yes. There. Her head collapsed forward. ‘I think it’ll just piss him off.’

  ‘Isn’t that what we want?’

  She tried to shrug but it didn’t happen. ‘Maybe.’

  Hunter kissed her neck and slid her bra strap down from her left shoulder. ‘So, what do you want to do?’

  ‘A little lie down wouldn’t go amiss.’

  ‘I’m with you there.’ Hunter slid the right side down and kissed her neck again, still hitting the right spots on the massage. ‘Then?’

  ‘Then we’ll get something to eat. I’m thinking we should head down the Strip.’

  ‘Nothing to stop us going for a walk, is there?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Chantal swung round and kissed him hard on the mouth, bashing against his teeth, her tongue wrestling against his. ‘Get one of those condoms, then.’

  Chantal’s hand clamped round Hunter’s, warm and tight, as they walked down the street. The sun was low on the horizon, but the air was still hot. Her boozy haze was replaced with a nice feeling in her gut. ‘This must be what happiness feels like.’ She put her head to his shoulder and wrapped her arm round his torso. ‘I love you, Craig.’

  ‘You only say that after you’ve got your way with me.’

  Chantal pinched his side as they walked on. ‘Very funny.’

  The wide street joined a crossroads. Busy neon led to the right, a deep bass drum thud booming out. A couple of lap dancing clubs were across the other side, right next to three cash machines.

  She waved a hand over the road. ‘Think Tulloch might’ve gone in there?’

  Hunter tossed his head from side to side. ‘Someone like Tulloch would rather not pay for it.’

  ‘Maybe. Maybe not.’ Chantal clenched her jaw. ‘You see what he did to the four victims before Paisley. What they went through at his hands, made them too scared to talk to us. It doesn’t come down to paying for it, he takes what he wants and screw the consequences. We need to get him, Craig.’

  ‘We will.’ Hunter led her over to the crossroads. ‘So I guess this is the Strip, then?’

  A long avenue crawled down a gradual hill, kinking slightly then twisting back to the left. Like the high street of any small Scottish town, but instead of butchers, bakers and post offices, every door was a bar or club. Flashing neon, hissing dry ice, thumping house music. Men and women outside handing out flyers. A steady stream of boozers traipsed down, grouped by gender, shouting and laughing.

  Hunter looked over at her. ‘You ready for this?’

  Chantal sucked in a deep breath. She pointed to the right. A two-storey Irish pub that looked like a saloon in a Western. A staircase led up the side to a steak restaurant. ‘Was that where Tulloch was going?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Hunter scowled at her. ‘But. Steak?’

  ‘Shite, I didn’t think.’ She rubbed his arm through his shirt. ‘We can sit and watch.’

  ‘It’s fine.’ He started up the steps. ‘I think Matty said first on the right.’

  ‘You told me left.’

  ‘Did I? Shite.’

  ‘Come on.’ She grabbed his hand and squeezed, hauling him across the road.

  El Rancho Steak House. A single floor and long, with an olive climbing up the stucco front.

  Hunter stopped. ‘Another steakhouse?’

  Chantal took a look inside. No sign of Tulloch or the other two. Brownlee and Matty. She glanced at the placard outside and chapped her knuckle off it. ‘Look, it’s mostly pizza and pasta.’

  ‘Now we’re talking.’ Hunter scanned down the menu. ‘You sure you’re okay about missing out on a steak?’

  ‘I’ll be fine. Already had a big portion of meat.’

  ‘Hardly big…’

  ‘You know what I mean.’ She tried to lead him in, but he held back.

  Hunter let out a groan. ‘What self-respecting pizza place doesn’t have a banana topping?’

  Chantal tightened her grip and pulled him by the hand, waiting by the front desk.

  The restaurant was pretty big. A few tables for couples ran along the windows with long benches stretching from front to back, like a school canteen. Stag and hen parties all dicking about. Selfie central. Twenty-odd blokes filled a bench to the far wall. Halfway up, some of them were turned to chat up the hen party behind them. The nearest men looked like they were still asleep, no doubt the result of a hardcore Thursday night. Evening meal of the living dead. Someone shouted out ‘Pintman!’, whatever that meant, whoever that was.

  Chantal folded her arms. ‘No sign of Tulloch or his mates.’

  ‘The night’s still young.’

  A waiter flounced over to them and grinned at Chantal. ‘Table for two?’

  She nodded. ‘Could we get one away from everything?’

  ‘Sure thing, my sweet.’ The waiter led over to a series of tables on the side and pulled out a chair.

  Chantal took the seat facing back the way. ‘Thanks.’

  The waiter brandished two menus. ‘Can I get you something to drink? Wine? Beer? Cocktail?’

  Chantal sighed as she flipped hers over. ‘A bottle of the Rioja, please.’

  ‘Sure thing.’ The waiter sauntered off past the bedlam, rolling his eyes. One of the lads was dancing on a table, throwing Marty McFly air-guitar shapes to a Guns ’n Roses track pumping out of the stereo.

  Hunter reached a hand over the table. ‘A whole bottle?’

  ‘Sod it. We’ve got to blend in, right?’ Her phone rattled the table top and she groaned. ‘Bollocks, it’s Sharon.’

  36

  HUNTER

  * * *

  ‘Well, take it.’ Hunter pulled the menu close to him. Looked like it was mostly barbecued meat. Can’t even see the bloody pasta. ‘You can’t do a speakerphone call in a place like this.’

  ‘Back in a sec.’ Chantal snatched up her mobile and headed outside.

  Hunter flipped the menu over. Pizza and pasta. Right, good.

  He glanced at his phone. More texts from Finlay. Give it up, mate.

  He rubbed at his throat. Still hurt from Ricky’s clawing, but maybe back down to seven out of ten. Maybe.

  The menu was a hard choice. Usually best to just go for the margherita. More cheese and less messing about.

  Maybe worth asking for a banana?

  The waiter came back with a bottle of wine and a frown. ‘Has madam left, sir?’

  ‘Had to take a call.’

  ‘I see.’ The waiter rested the bottle in front of Hunter. He twatted about with a knife, tearing at the foil, instead of yanking it off like any self-respecting barbarian would. Then he plunged a corkscrew in with a wide smile. ‘Are you both drinking, yes?’

  ‘Aye, we are.’ Hunter unlocked his phone and found the photos. He held it up to the waiter. ‘Do you recognise any of these men?’

  The waiter splashed wine into Hunter’s glass and frowned at the photos, as he slowly flicked through.

  Hunter picked up the glass for a sniff and sip. Passable, though not a Rioja.

  The waiter’s eyes bulged at one picture. Tulloch. ‘How is the wine, sir?’

  ‘It’s fine.’ Hunter slid the glass back. ‘So, do you recognise him?’

  The waiter poured some wine into Chantal’s glass. ‘This man was in last night. Loud and drunk.’

  ‘I take it that’s not out of character for here?’

  The waiter rolled his eyes at the excess behind him. ‘You see what we have to contend with every night.’ He tipped some plonk into Hunter’s glass, filling it up, then reste
d the bottle in the middle of the table. ‘I take it you are police.’

  ‘From Scotland, aye.’ Hunter took another sip of the sour wine. ‘Have they been in tonight?’

  ‘They would not be allowed in.’ He puckered his lips. ‘Shall I come back when madam has returned?’

  ‘Please.’ Hunter stared at the menu again. ‘Hang on, can I get banana and mushroom on a pizza?’

  ‘Well, of course. Whatever sir desires.’ The waiter flounced off.

  Another two men and three hens were up on one of the long tables, playing air guitar to that Bryan Adams song.

  ‘Bloody hell.’ Chantal slumped down in her chair and gulped down some wine. ‘Bloody hell.’

  ‘That good?’

  She pinged a finger on her wine glass, letting it ring. ‘Sharon didn’t get anywhere with Quaresma’s boss.’ Another drink. ‘We still have to go through him if we need any assistance.’ She fanned her hair out. ‘And, of course, we’ve pissed them off now.’

  Last thing we need. ‘Well, the good news is they were in here last night.’

  ‘Tulloch?’

  ‘And company. They won’t get back in, though.’

  ‘Shite. So we’re wasting our time?’

  The waiter reappeared with his hands clasped. ‘Are you ready to order, madam?’

  37

  CHANTAL

  * * *

  Chantal sipped at her wine, her cheeks flushing from all the booze. Still tasted like diluted balsamic. Why the hell did Craig accept it?

  Hunter nibbled at the crust of his pizza. Looked disgusting. Tomato and cheese and banana. The mushrooms looked canned. Hate mushrooms.

  He finished chewing and pushed his plate away. ‘That wasn’t bad at all.’

  ‘I’ll take your word for it.’ Chantal dug into the last layer of her lasagne. Red meaty mush. Not even sure it’s beef. ‘This is minging.’

  ‘Looks okay to me. Apart from, you know, the meat.’