by Ed James
Petra shrugged again.
‘Mr Tulloch’s latest victim is a woman called Paisley Sanderson. She lives in Galashiels, not too far from here. Before he flew out to Portugal, Mr Tulloch put her in hospital.’
Petra couldn’t look anyone in the eye, just focused on her fingers.
‘Then tonight, Sean Tulloch came back here and put an iron to her face.’ She let it hang again. The lawyer looked like she was going to be sick. ‘Paisley’s back in hospital. I suspect she’ll be deformed for life. All because she decided to talk to us about what Mr Tulloch has put her through.’
Petra reached over and picked up her cup of water. It splashed out of the sides as she sipped it.
Chantal wanted to reach across and…
She sighed. ‘Mr Tulloch raped two women in Portugal. Heather Latimer. Nice Irish girl. On a hen weekend with her pals and family. Then she gets her drinks spiked. Next thing she knows, she wakes up with Tulloch on top of her. Gordon Brownlee was watching. Another of Matty’s friends.’
‘Shut up.’
‘And, of course, the other rape. . . Mr Tulloch took Luisa Oliveira upstairs at the bar and raped her.’
Petra made eye contact. ‘That wasn’t rape.’
Chantal sighed. ‘What?’
‘Nothing.’
‘We know she’s your sister.’
‘I am not saying anything.’
‘You should speak to us, Petra. We might be able to have a word with our colleagues over in Portugal. See what they can do about your… Nah, you’re screwed. Matty’s going away for a very long time.’
Petra folded her arms. ‘She loves Sean.’
Bingo…
Chantal leaned low, managing to lock eyes with Petra. ‘How do you know this?’
‘Luisa called me this morning. She was upset. Police broke down door in her apartment.’ Petra huffed out a sigh, then shrugged. ‘This is what she tell me. These men came in to the bar with Matty. They had breakfast. Then Sean started chatting to Luisa. She had a drink with them.’
‘And then?’
‘Then she asked him if he wanted to go to her place. Her shift was over, so she was free.’
‘And he raped her there?’
‘He didn’t rape her!’ Petra smacked a fist off the table. ‘Don’t you understand? Matty introduced Sean to Luisa. She liked him. Get over it.’
‘Was it like you and Matty?’
‘What?’
‘Did you meet him in a bar?’
‘I met him at Catterick when he was based there. I worked as a cleaner. Matty was different from the rest of them.’ Petra patted her cheek, almost like a lover’s caress. ‘We started sleeping together.’
‘But you got divorced?’
Petra nodded, little trails of tears sliding down both cheeks. ‘My husband found out. He tried to get custody of Harry.’ Her face twisted up. ‘The judge, this pig, he gave him temporary custody! He took Harry away from me! My own son!’
‘So you and Matty decided the best thing was to kidnap your son?’
Petra inspected her nails. ‘It’s just until my divorce comes through. Then we can be together as a family.’
‘So you abducted Harry?’
‘Harry should be with his mother!’ Another thump on the table. ‘Do you know why I love Matty? Because my husband, the pig, he used to hit me. He beat me up. Every night. I told Matty and… Matty took me away from him. But he left Harry! There was nothing we could do.’
‘You could’ve spoken to the police.’
‘The police wouldn’t believe me.’
‘You could’ve tried. Instead, you’ve got this situation.’
‘Matty saved Harry from that bastard!’ Petra banged the table again, tipping her water over. ‘You should give him a medal!’
The lawyer snorted at Chantal, then stared back at Bruce. ‘My client was in a desperate situation. I expect some leniency here.’
‘She’s going away for a long time.’ Bruce nodded at her then leaned over to Chantal. ‘That’s nailed it, pet. Do you want to get yourself home?’
97
HUNTER
* * *
Hunter stared out of the kitchen window while the coffee maker whistled on the stove. Leith was in full flow, Sunday morning traffic turning Commercial Street into a car park as people headed to Ocean Terminal.
He stretched out, touching his palms to the floor. His thighs ached, burning up the back. Dark bruises dotted his side. Even looking at it hurt.
Hunter went over and took the coffee off the hob. He got two mugs out of the cupboard and poured the thick syrupy liquid in. Beautiful. Dark and musty, smelled like truffle oil. He poured in the hot milk and tried to feather off Chantal’s.
What a bloody mess.
He grabbed the handles and walked through the flat towards the bedroom. Muffin shot out, scuttling along the laminate. Bubble followed him, managing to run on three legs at the same time as punching his arse.
‘There’s my girl.’ Hunter pushed the door open.
Chantal lay in the darkness and let out a groan. She flicked on the bedside light and blinked with one eye, the other shut. ‘Fell asleep again.’
Hunter put the coffees down on his side of the bed. ‘When did you get in?’
She stared right through him, like understanding speech was beyond her. ‘Half four.’ She lay back and yawned. ‘Sharon was still there when I left.’
A thump came from the hall.
Hunter pushed himself up. ‘That’ll be the paper.’
‘You’re such an old man.’
Hunter padded through, feeling like an old man. Muffin stood over The Sunday Argus, looking like he was going to piss on it. ‘Don’t you bloody dare.’ He shooed him off and picked up the paper.
HARRY: COPS FIND MISSING CHILD IN ALNWICK RAID
The photo below showed Chantal and Bruce leading the mother into a police station somewhere. Newcastle, probably.
Jesus Christ.
Hunter went back through and threw the paper on the bed. ‘You’re famous.’
‘I’ll try and not let it go to my head.’ She picked it up and stared at it. ‘I look terrible.’
‘You wish you could look terrible.’ Hunter perched on the edge of the bed. ‘You didn’t tell me you found him.’
‘Well, I couldn’t think of anything after you told me about Tulloch.’ She grabbed her coffee and slurped at it. ‘This is good.’
‘I know.’ Hunter sipped at his own coffee. ‘Smells like cigars.’
She froze, the mug against her lip. ‘What?’
‘I said it smelled like cigars.’
She put down her mug. ‘Last night, when we arrested Matty. Before I went… Before I went medieval on him. He was smoking a cigar. My uncle used to smoke cigars. Maybe the same brand, maybe not…’
‘Shite, I should’ve thought.’
She grabbed his wrist. ‘Craig, I had a flashback to when I was playing rugby. I was twelve and he… He picked me up. Dad had to go somewhere. He took me down a country lane and… That was the first time.’
Hunter sat on the edge of the bed and stroked her arm. ‘I didn’t know.’
‘That fat bastard and his cigars.’
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘I don’t want to stop.’ Her jaw clenched tight. ‘I went ballistic on Ibbetson. I kicked his balls so hard they bled. I couldn’t stop. Just kept on kicking. All because…’ She broke off, shaking her head. ‘All because of what Ditinder did to me.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault. It’s… It’s deep in the past. He can’t do what he did to me again.’
‘He won’t.’ Hunter smiled at her. If I had a time machine… ‘What did Sharon say about it?’
‘She’s going to cover it over. It’s all part of the arrest record now.’ She picked up her coffee again. ‘Matty tried to rape me.’
Hunter’s blood went from boiling point to ice. ‘He what?’
�
��He tried to rape me.’ Chantal ran a hand through her hair. ‘I stabbed him in the eye with the cigar. Then I beat the shit out of him.’
‘I wish I’d been there to stop it.’
‘To protect me?’
‘Maybe.’ Hunter tasted sick at the back of his throat. ‘Him and Tulloch, they won’t do it to anyone ever again.’ He swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the taste. ‘Only goes to show that, no matter where you’re from, a scumbag is a scumbag. We’re all the same underneath, it’s what we do that makes a difference.’
Hunter drove into the car park in Bathgate station, taking it as slowly as his battered hands would allow. He parked in the first of a row of three empty bays. ‘Wouldn’t get this on a Monday morning.’
Chantal glanced over at him, frowning. ‘Right.’
Hunter opened his door and let it hang there. ‘You okay?’
‘Not really.’ She stuffed her phone away and let her seatbelt flop to her lap. ‘I need like a year’s sleep. I’m worried we’re going to mess it up.’
‘Not going to happen.’
‘Craig, we need hard evidence on Tulloch. We need to…’
‘It’s okay.’ Hunter grabbed her hand and held it tight. ‘Look, you maybe shouldn’t be working today.’
‘Tulloch has to… I’ve got to make sure he—’
Something clunked off his window. DI McNeill stood there, her pencil-thin eyebrows standing to attention. She jabbed a finger at Chantal then at Hunter.
Chantal snatched her hand away from his. ‘Shite on a lamppost.’ She opened the door with a breezy smile. ‘Shaz, good morning. We—’
‘You lying cow.’
‘What?’
‘Don’t think I didn’t see that.’ Sharon pointed at Hunter as he got out of the car. ‘You pair must think we’re all idiots. Chantal, my office, now.’ She turned and clattered away.
Chantal ran after her.
This is all we need…
Cullen was leaning against his Golf, parked next to them, yawning into a fist. ‘Morning, Craig.’
‘Morning.’ Hunter huffed out a sigh. ‘Any news?’
‘Other than you two getting here at the same time?’
‘There’s nothing—’
‘Save it, mate. Not my battle.’ Cullen plipped his car’s locks. ‘Look, Sharon wants you and me to interview Tulloch, okay? I’ll see you inside.’
‘Fine.’ Hunter watched him go, slumping back to rest on his car, arms folded.
Bollocks.
Playing with fire for far too long and—
‘Alright?’ Elvis was skulking around a couple of cars over. Didn’t look himself, his mouth hanging open.
Hunter pushed off from the car and joined him. ‘You okay, mate?’
Elvis blew out a sigh. ‘I feel emaciated.’
‘What?’
‘When Chantal and Sharon took out that Matty guy last night, they left me looking through CCTV.’
Hunter almost laughed. ‘You mean emasculated, right?’
‘Whatever, still a load of shite, mate.’ Elvis hauled his laptop bag up his shoulder. ‘They were running a big dunt in Alnwick and they didn’t want me there. How’s that supposed to make me feel?’
‘Like you’ve got other uses?’
‘I can kick a door down with the best of them.’ Elvis started walking over to the back entrance. ‘Starting to wish I’d never come here.’
98
Tulloch sat back in his seat, arms folded across his chest. His face was bandaged up, broken red skin outlining the sunburnt white. ‘I’m saying nothing.’
Hunter still ached all over, but he couldn’t sit down. He paced around the interview room and stopped behind Cullen’s chair. ‘Mr Tulloch, can you outline your movements on the night of Thursday the twelfth of May 2016?’
Tulloch shrugged both shoulders. ‘When you tried to assault me at Waverley?’
Hunter leaned forward to rest against Cullen’s chair. ‘How did you know we’d be there?’
‘Eyes and ears everywhere, my sweet prince.’
‘Name your source.’
‘Fuck off.’
There’s something there, something to push and prod. What, though? ‘Okay, so after Waverley?’
‘I went to the airport.’
‘Aye? How did you get there?’
Tulloch sniffed. ‘Can’t remember.’
‘You didn’t steal a car, did you?’
‘No I never.’ Tulloch licked his lips. ‘Look, I flew out to Portugal. There’s no law against that, far as I’m aware.’
‘And what did you do there?’
‘Met some boys from the squad and we went for a few drinks.’
‘Do any karaoke?’
Tulloch smirked. ‘A bit, aye.’
‘Did you speak to any women?’
‘Might’ve done.’
‘So that’ll be when you raped Heather Latimer?’
Tulloch snarled at Williams’s latest attempt to elbow him. ‘Like I told that Portuguese wanker yesterday, that bird was so pissed I doubt she even remembered her name.’
‘So how could she give her consent?’
‘Because she said she wanted my monster cock inside her.’ Tulloch grinned and grabbed at his groin. ‘Here, do you fancy a portion?’
Hunter held his gaze until he looked away. ‘What about Luisa Oliveira?’
‘Nice girl.’
‘Who you raped.’
‘Asked and answered, buddy. Consent given.’ Tulloch leaned over to whisper into Williams’s ear, loud enough for the microphone to pick up. ‘See, Hamish, this boy burst in on us at it. He’s after my cock, isn’t he? Big poof.’
Williams gritted his teeth.
Hunter waited for Tulloch to look at him. ‘You raped Luisa, didn’t you?’
Tulloch paused for a few seconds. ‘Move. On.’
‘Later on, you were trying to get back in to Luisa’s flat. Why?’
‘No comment.’
‘Worried she was going to tell us you had actually raped her?’
‘You find it hard to believe that a girl like that would be into a boy like me?’
‘Kind of. Aside from your penis, what’s her interest?’
‘Can’t it just be my knob and my rugged charm?’
Hunter stared at him. ‘And your date rape drugs?’
‘Piss off. You’ve no evidence of anything, have you?’
‘Matty introduced you to her, right?’
Tulloch looked away. ‘It’s his bird’s sister.’ He shrugged, like it was a normal thing. ‘We had a few drinks. She liked me, invited me back to hers.’
Hunter’s gut burned. All the guilt and rage simmered away, biting at his gullet, gnawing at his stomach. He switched to another sheet of paper. ‘Next, you were complicit in the murder of Finlay Sinclair.’
Tulloch shrugged his left shoulder. ‘Don’t recall it.’
‘He was pushed off a cliff yesterday afternoon. He punctured a lung and died later that day. You deny being there?’
‘Yup.’
Hunter stopped. ‘We have evidence of you at the crime scene in Albufeira.’
‘Wasn’t there.’
‘So who did it?’
‘No idea.’
‘Matty?’
‘No idea, mate. Move on.’
‘Gordon Brownlee.’
‘Hardly. Prick wasn’t even there.’ Tulloch clicked his finger a few times. ‘You’re screwing that Paki, aren’t you?’
‘You assisted Matthew Ibbetson in the murder of—’
‘You satisfy her, do you?’ Tulloch made a little hook with his pinky. ‘That how big you are, eh? Little maggot. When I get out of here, how about I give her a real portion of cock?’
Hunter slumped back in his chair, shaking his head. Everything hurt that little bit worse. ‘Mr Tulloch, we have been running a case against you for over a year now.’ He hefted up a paper file and dropped it on the desk, the thud echoing round the small room. ‘This is the evide
nce we’ve so far obtained.’
‘Whilst I certainly do appreciate early sight of this…’ Williams looked over the top of his glasses. ‘Perhaps we are jumping the gun here, slightly?’
‘Of course.’ Hunter pushed the file across to the other side of the desk, just in front of Cullen, scratching at his chin again. ‘We’ve only got started with this. We’ll need a few more files by the time this goes to trial. But I wanted to ask you a few questions about Paisley Sanderson.’
‘Fuck off.’
Williams jostled Tulloch’s arm. ‘My client denies any involvement.’
‘You deny assaulting her?’
‘No comment.’
‘You deny pressing a hot iron against her face?’
‘Move on.’
‘No, I won’t move on.’ Hunter leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. ‘You tortured her, tried to kill her. Are you denying that?’
‘No comment.’
‘Of course, you’d already threatened to kill her, hadn’t you?’
‘No comment.’
‘This is a text message you sent on Wednesday night.’ Hunter held up a print-out. ‘Do you want me to read it out?’ He waited for a reply. Didn’t get one. ‘It says, “Know who you spoke to. You are dead, bitch.”’ He put the sheet down in front of the lawyer. ‘I am, of course, translating the text speak.’
Tulloch snorted. ‘I didn’t send that.’
‘It came from your phone.’
‘Must be one of the lads in my mess.’ Tulloch folded his arms tight around his torso. ‘Must’ve left it on the table when I went for a slash.’
‘You didn’t lock it?’
Tulloch’s lips curled up at the sides. ‘Foible of mine.’
‘None of your ex-partners received similar messages.’ Hunter tapped the file. ‘I should say victims, of course. You only threatened Paisley. Why is that?’
‘Like I said, pal. Can’t help you.’ Tulloch smiled at him then winced. ‘Someone messed about with my phone. Gogs Brownlee, I’d say.’
‘So you deny sending these messages?’
‘Have you got any proof that my client typed them and then sent them? No. So move on.’ Williams flourished a gesture up and down Tulloch’s body. ‘As you can see, my client is still in need of medical attention, so time is of the essence.’
