Craig Hunter Books 1-3

by Ed James

  ‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this.’ Hunter started pacing the small room. ‘Is this your official position?’

  ‘Listen to me, Constable. My priority is decided by my superiors. Harry Jack takes, how you say, precedence. An innocent child, abducted from his home and taken here against his will. Your Mr Tulloch, well, these women are complicit in the crimes, aren’t they? They come here, drink us dry, and can’t say no because of their lifestyle. Then they expect us to prosecute? That is not justice, that is a farce.’

  Chantal stepped forward, almost going head to head with him, then she walked over to the door. ‘I need to speak to your superiors.’

  ‘You’re going to, how do you say, grass to teacher, yes?’ Quaresma tried the smile on Hunter. ‘Your DI McNeill has attempted that manoeuvre already, Sergeant. My superiors are uncomfortable with the actions of you and Constable Hunter.’ He nibbled at his bottom lip. ‘You should consider going home, yes?’

  Hunter almost put his hand through the screen, stopping to jab a finger at Tulloch. ‘He’s coming back to Scotland with us.’

  Quaresma tucked his thumbs through the loops on his trousers. Three steps and I could break both fingers. ‘Mr Hunter, I can and will arrest you for assaulting your friend Ricky.’

  Chantal stomped back over, her fists clenched. ‘Look, we’ve got Tulloch for five serious long-term sexual abuse cases back home, plus a violent assault, then assaulting two cops. If you let him go, then it’s on your head.’

  ‘I can’t spare the manpower. We’ve had a sighting of Harry Jack in Vilamoura.’

  Hunter looked into his eyes, searching deep for the lie. ‘Is that the truth?’

  ‘Are you accusing me of lying to you now?’ Quaresma laughed. ‘We have not received the promised European Arrest Warrant. Even if I could arrest him, I can’t pass him to you.’

  Chantal shook her head at him. ‘Why are you being as obstructive as possible?’

  ‘Listen to me, I have to manage my resources very carefully. If you were an inspector, maybe you’d understand.’

  ‘Look, if you won’t release him to us, then you need to keep him here until we can come to an agreement.’

  Quaresma puckered his lips. ‘In this country, I can’t detain a suspect without charge.’

  This is going to the dogs and fast. How the hell do I get him back onside?

  Hunter cleared his throat. ‘Can you at least take a detailed statement of Tulloch’s movements over the last few days, then?’

  Quaresma held his arms wide, shaking his head. ‘That won’t happen.’

  66

  Hunter

  Hunter leaned back against DI Bruce’s car and let the sun burn his skin. ‘How come we don’t get a hire car?’

  ‘Because we’re not special, Craig.’ Chantal stuffed her hands in her pockets.

  Hunter felt ready to kill Quaresma, or raid the police station and kill Tulloch with his bare hands. She just stood there, an ice queen in the baking heat.

  ‘But I suppose I’d better call Sharon and let her know the great news.’ She shuffled away towards the shade.’

  Hunter got out his mobile. Two texts, the first from Finlay:

  I GET THE MESSAGE, MATE. CALL ME IF YOU NEED ME.

  When is that going to be likely?

  And a photo from Murray, Muffin lying on Hunter’s bed, Bubble standing over him, paw in the air.

  FIGHTING LIKE YOU AND CHANTAL!

  He’s never bloody seen us fight. Not getting into it, slamming doors.

  ‘You filthy bastard!’ Matty was tearing across the car park towards Hunter, fists clenched, fury in his eyes. ‘You fucking pig bastard!’

  Hunter got himself into the basic stance, ready to fight. ‘Unless you want to tell us all about Sean Tulloch, I suggest—’

  ‘Fuck off!’ Matty stabbed a finger at the police station. ‘I’ve just been inside doing a fucking ID parade! You stupid prick!’

  ‘Come on. Hit me. Go on.’

  Matty moved his head close, almost touching. ‘You’re not fucking worth it.’ He stormed off, heading away from the station’s entrance.

  Hunter settled back against the car and folded his arms. Blood thudding in his ears.

  Should I take him up on his threat? Go and batter him?

  DI Bruce leered as he approached. He thumbed over at Chantal, wheeling around at the other side of the car park. ‘Updating the boss?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Hunter put his phone away. ‘Getting a kicking.’

  ‘Typical. This place is a shambles, I swear.’ Bruce shook his head at the building. ‘So, are you two an item?’

  Hunter gave him a long look. ‘Surprised to see you here what with that sighting of Harry Jack.’

  Bruce’s head twisted to the side, his forehead pulsing to some unheard rhythm. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Quaresma said they had a sighting of him in Villa something.’

  ‘Vilamoura?’

  Hunter shrugged again. Felt like it was becoming a habit. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘That cheeky bastard!’ Bruce stormed off towards the police station, kicking up clouds of sand from the pebbles. The door rattled as he battered his way inside.

  Not a happy man.

  Hunter stared at his phone as another text from Finlay popped up.

  Maybe it’s time.

  67

  CHANTAL

  * * *

  Chantal stomped across the car park, her phone tight to her ear. What an absolute joke. ‘What’s up, Shaz?’

  ‘It’s a nightmare here.’ Sharon’s sigh hissed out of the speaker. ‘DI Fletcher’s been on the bloody phone every hour, talking about coming back off holiday and taking over.’

  ‘Shite.’

  ‘Aye. And then some. Over a year’s work on this bloody case so that scumbag can walk?’ Another sigh. ‘And to top it all off, I’ve had Inspector Quaresma’s superior on the phone.’

  ‘Already?’

  ‘Already. I don’t know what you two have been up to, but there’s no option but to return home.’

  Chantal scowled over at Hunter. ‘We’ve got Tulloch. We—’

  ‘Chantal, no.’ Sharon’s breath rattled against the microphone. ‘The Portuguese are giving us no quarter here. I need you and Craig out of the country.’

  ‘They’ve got Tulloch and—’

  ‘Chantal!’

  ‘—when they let him go, we can—’

  ‘Chantal, will you just bloody listen to me?’ Sharon paused. In the background, a door clunked shut. ‘If you pick Tulloch up from the station or anywhere else, they will arrest you. Doing a Bruce Lee impression and barging in on Tulloch having consensual sex with a local didn’t impress them.’

  ‘Craig acted accordingly in both cases.’ Chantal shrugged an apology at nobody. ‘Look, we need that arrest warrant.’

  ‘Not going to happen this week.’

  Chantal shook her head. ‘So we’re giving up?’

  ‘We’re never going to give up. This is one of our highest priority cases, okay?’ Sharon paused again. ‘But I’m going to have to go cap in hand to Rollo-Smith, okay?’ She let it hang there, hissing in the sun. ‘The MOD can bring Tulloch back to this country.’

  ‘That sounds exactly like giving up.’

  ‘Do you think I’m pissing about back here? I’ve been in meetings all weekend while you’ve been drinking.’

  ‘If Rollo-Smith gets him, you better wave goodbye to any prosecution from us.’

  ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Meanwhile, Paisley is finally well enough to let Elvis and Jenny take a statement from her. He assaulted two cops, too. We’re close to getting a full statement on Tulloch. While it’s going to shit out there, another two days and we’ll have a complete story to take to the Procurator Fiscal. The noose is tightening. Okay?’

  Chantal shoved her free hand deep into her pockets. ‘If anyone remembers their story when Tulloch gets out of military prison.’

  ‘Come on, Chantal.’
Sharon sounded battered and bruised. ‘I’m trying my hardest here.’

  ‘That’s what it’s about, isn’t it? Statistics? We’re letting a rapist out of our sight. Do you know what—’

  ‘Chantal, enough!’ Sharon paused. ‘You’re booked on the half eight from Faro to Edinburgh. Your passes are with the airline. Make sure you’re at the airport by seven.’

  68

  HUNTER

  * * *

  ‘So that’s us knackered.’ Chantal rested her head on Hunter’s shoulder, her hair flopping against his neck. She blew air over her face, giving him a backdraught of sweet suntan lotion. ‘Tell me there’s something we can do.’

  Was there? Hunter couldn’t even think. They had Tulloch in custody, had witnesses against fresh crimes and…

  And it all falls away to shite.

  Hunter pulled her closer, wrapping his arm around her. ‘The only thing I can think is Rollo-Smith will be days getting out here.’

  ‘I wanted good news.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Rollo-Smith will be on the next flight out, won’t he?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Hunter shrugged again. Feel like I don’t know anything. ‘But the military can be bloody slow. If they’re getting wind of him having drugs, then maybe. The blowback on them could be pretty bad if he rapes and kills someone.’

  ‘This isn’t good enough.’ She pushed away from him and pointed at a grid of thin windows overlooking the car park. ‘Meanwhile, Quaresma will let that scumbag out and he’ll go on raping women. Or he’ll disappear into thin air.’ She folded her arms and leaned back against Bruce’s hire car with a thud. ‘I hate this bloody job at times.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’ Hunter drummed his hands on the top of the car. ‘We’ve got Tulloch pinned down.’

  ‘For now.’

  ‘Aye, for now. But we know he’ll get let out.’ Hunter stopped drumming and rasped a hand across his stubble. ‘So, what we need is to keep an eye on him.’

  ‘What, you’re saying we ignore Sharon and stay here?’

  ‘If we do that, Quaresma’ll arrest me.’

  ‘You honestly think so?’

  ‘Put it this way, I’m looking around for a drill and screws to try and tighten up the shoogly peg my coat’s on.’

  ‘So, what then?’

  ‘I’ve got an idea.’

  ‘I’m all ears.’

  Something clattered behind them.

  DI Bruce stomped out of the front door, charging across the car park towards them.

  Hunter nodded at Bruce. ‘Can you try and persuade him to get one of his lot to keep a tail on Tulloch?’

  ‘That’s your idea?’

  ‘He’s got resource and nothing to do with it. Tell him he’s involved in Harry Jack’s disappearance?’

  ‘Craig, I can’t lie…’

  Hunter marched across to meet him. ‘How did it go?’

  Bruce stopped a few metres away, shaking his head, jaw clenched tight. ‘Have you pair got anything on Quaresma? Any dodgy behaviour. Vague suspicions that he’s up to something. Anything.’

  ‘He’s pissed off with us for trying to do his job for him.’

  ‘But he’s not done anything that wrong yet?’

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘He had another sighting of Harry in Vilamoura this morning.’ Bruce’s jaw clenched tight as he swung round to glare at the police station, not that he could see Quaresma through any of the tiny windows. ‘It’s not far from here, but he’s kept us out of the bloody loop. Didn’t tell me or my team.’

  ‘Was it Harry?’

  ‘That’s not the point.’ Bruce unlocked his car and pulled his hand away from the hot door. ‘Came to nothing, like everything around here.’

  Chantal folded her arms. ‘Sounds like you’re in the same level of shit as us.’

  Bruce frowned at her. ‘Isn’t that what you’ve been doing to him?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Chantal shrugged at him. ‘I don’t like it, though. We’ve been ordered to head back to Scotland tonight.’

  Bruce opened his car door. ‘Well in that case, do you guys fancy a crafty lunchtime pint?’

  Chantal nodded. ‘Thought you’d never ask.’

  Hunter smiled at Bruce. ‘I’ll leave you to catch up, if it’s all the same.’

  69

  CHANTAL

  * * *

  Chantal sat outside a bar on the main drag through Albufeira’s old town. Close enough to the sea for the bitter salt tang but far enough to avoid too many smoking Brits getting tanked up. The town stretched out ahead of them, white stucco buildings climbing the hill, harsh cliffs edging the sea. Behind, a wide beach was squeezed back by the high tide, hardly any sunbathers, despite the heat. Still too early in the season for that.

  Bruce was at the bar, paying. Can still just walk away.

  Bloody Craig dumping me in this.

  She picked up her phone. Still nothing from him.

  Bruce came outside and dumped two full pints on the table, the lager’s head fizzing away.

  Chantal sat back in her chair and sipped the cold beer. ‘Nice place this.’

  ‘Not bad.’ Bruce gulped down his lager like he hadn’t drunk anything all day. ‘Much better than where you’re staying, Chantal, let me tell you that.’ He swallowed more beer, his eyes misting over. ‘I love it here. Used to bring the kids in the summer for a fortnight. Every year. Sometimes get a week at half-term in October.’ He smirked. ‘And then there’s the golf trips with the boys.’

  Chantal clutched the handle of her glass, ready to drink. ‘You any good?’

  ‘That’s not the point.’ Bruce tore open a bag of crisps. One of those continental brands that looked like the British ones, but with a different name. ‘Help yourself.’

  Chantal grabbed a handful and shovelled them down. ‘Haven’t eaten all day.’ She nodded as she chewed, the vinegar tang biting her gums. ‘Been hard at it since we got up.’

  ‘You caught him, though, that’s a good thing.’ Bruce ate a crisp, daintily like someone’s gran. ‘Just because the wheels of justice don’t turn very quickly, doesn’t mean you haven’t done great.’

  ‘Doesn’t feel great.’ Chantal looked over at the bar’s door and fiddled with the tie on her shorts. A couple of knuckle-dragging mouth-breathers kept leering at her. ‘Great would be sitting at the airport, escorting that raping bastard home.’

  ‘Just saying, you and Craig caught that scumbag.’ Bruce’s gaze stayed on her hand as she munched through the crisps. ‘You’ve done well, pet.’

  ‘He’s going to slip through our grasp, though.’ Chantal finished her crisps and took a gulp of lager, giving herself a beer moustache. ‘God, I needed that.’

  Bruce reached over and wiped the foam off. ‘You missed a bit.’

  She pushed his hand away with a glare. ‘Can’t believe we’re getting kicked back to Scotland.’

  Bruce shuffled the crisp bag round to her. ‘Two-bit operation here, Chantal. Calling them cowboys doesn’t do it justice.’

  She took another and chewed slowly, her forehead creasing. ‘Any chance you can get a tail on him?’

  ‘With our resources?’ Bruce laughed. ‘No chance. If we get caught doing that, it’ll be all over the papers, too.’

  ‘That might not be a bad thing.’ Chantal took another sip of beer. ‘Your case isn’t short of profile in the media, which means it’s all Quaresma seems to bother about.’

  ‘Aye, to the detriment of my work. That prick wants all the glory for himself.’

  ‘We could play to that.’

  ‘Chantal…’ Bruce bellowed out a laugh, then downed the rest of his pint. ‘Right, after the morning I’ve had, I’m having another. What about you?’

  Chantal’s glass was below halfway. ‘Aye, go on.’

  ‘I’ll get more crisps.’ Bruce got up and went inside, leaving the door hanging open.

  Chantal took another crisp. Bloody starving. She picked up her phone and dialled Hunter. Took him
an age to answer.

  ‘Hey, lover, how are you doing?’ Sounded like he’d taken four MDMA.

  ‘I’m okay. Wallowing in my grief here. What about you?’

  ‘Still waiting.’

  ‘On Tulloch?’

  ‘He’s still inside.’ Hunter sighed down the line. ‘Do you want to get some food?’

  ‘Too pissed off to eat properly, Craig.’ Chantal took another angry drink of beer, her teeth chapping off the glass. ‘Right now, I want to get so drunk they don’t let me on the plane. Then I can stay here and catch that bastard.’

  ‘You want to face Quaresma’s wrath again?’

  ‘We should be tailing him.’

  ‘Have you got Bruce to bite yet?’

  ‘No resource. Press profile. You name it.’

  Hunter’s sigh hissed down the line. ‘What’s to stop me just happening to walk back to the apartments the same way as Tulloch?’

  Chantal took a drink of beer. ‘Nothing, I suppose.’

  ‘Look, I’ve got to go, okay?’

  ‘Is Tulloch—’

  Click.

  Bloody hell. Should never have left him up there. Bloody superhero twat is going to get himself killed.

  Chantal finished her beer in one gulp. Felt like a spider crawled up her spine. She hit it when it reached her shoulder. Only problem was it went both ways at the top and snaked down both arms.

  Bloody hell.

  ‘Think that rain will get us?’

  Chantal swung round, the spider on her neck scurrying off. ‘What rain?’

  Bruce was clattering through the small door. ‘That rain.’

  A giant storm cloud hovered over the sea, dirtying the turquoise a dark grey. A British pub sat opposite, advertising “real beer!” and “Proper English fry-ups!”. The sunburnt skinheads drinking inside seemed to enjoy it anyway. Older, though, not the sort to go raping their way down the Strip.