Hunter's Chase (The Edinburgh Crime Mysteries #1)

by Val Penny

  “Take DC Myerscough, Jane,” Hunter said.

  Jane and Tim both nodded.

  “Anything else, Sergeant?” Mackay asked.

  Jane paused. “Not officially, but there is some word on the street that Mr Mansoor may be involved in an undeclared importation business.”

  “Where does that come from, and what on earth does it mean?” Mackay asked.

  “There was a call this morning from the Scottish Drug Enforcement Agency. They are concerned that we have not brought him in yet.”

  “Oh, God help us!” Mackay groaned.

  “Maybe, Sir. When I gave them a quick summary, I learned Mansoor has been on their radar for some time, as has a young guy up in Aberdeen who they think may be working with him.”

  “Interesting. Did they say why?”

  Jane shook her head then turned to John. “Did you know Mansoor before we went to see him about that car?”

  “Only when he came in to report his car stolen. Me and Colin met him then, eh Col?”

  “Are you sure about that, John?” Jane continued. “You seemed very friendly outside Tim's flat before you came in to the party.”

  John's bacon roll paused halfway between his desk and his mouth.

  “Aye. I've seen this guy a total of three times. Once here with Colin, once with you at his place, and once outside Tim's flat on the night of the party when Tim's dad was speaking to him.” He glowered at Jane. “That last time, I went over to say 'hello' and then your dad and I came up to the do, Tim. All that okay with you, Sarge?” He spoke angrily.

  “Have you ever bought anything from Mansoor?”

  “What, like a luxury car? I don't think so. I'll leave that to our new DC and his father. Okay?”

  Jane nodded grimly. Tim blushed.

  “Charlie called us down to see Mr Mansoor when he heard it was a light Land Rover,” Colin said calmly. “He remembered what the DI said after Billy Hope was murdered.”

  “Okay.” Jane sat down again.

  “Keep that contact with Drugs Enforcement, won't you, Jane?” Hunter said.

  “I don't think I have a choice, Boss.”

  “DI Wilson?” Mackay looked over at Hunter, who moved to the front of the room and looked around.

  The faces meeting his gaze filled him with confidence and pride. These were good people, doing their best. Why could he not remember exactly what he had seen? It was not as if he felt traumatised by Billy Hope's murder. His failure to remember the registration number of the 4x4 irritated him.

  “DC Myerscough and I have identified the corpse found by his father on the golf course as Mary-Ann Johnson,” Hunter began. “All of her injuries occurred prior to death. Dr Sharma and her assistant Dr Murray confirm that some of those injuries are consistent with the woman having been attacked and beaten. Others betray that she was hit by a car. It is clear that she was not injured where she was found, but was moved to the golf course, where the medics believe she finally died of hypothermia without regaining consciousness.”

  The Detective Inspector paused.

  “Dr Murray confirmed that the beatings clearly occurred over a long period of time. They are consistent with violent attacks – probably domestic violence, he thinks, because we have no reports or complaints. Most of these old injuries are on the victim's right-hand side, indicating that the perpetrator is likely to have been left-handed. Her husband has not had good use of his right hand since an industrial injury nine and a half years ago.”

  “But those domestic injuries, for want of a better description, did not kill her?” Mackay asked.

  “No, Sir. She ultimately died of exposure and hypothermia. However, she had clearly been rendered unconscious by the combination of the previous 'domestic' and 'car' injuries. As a result of them, she did not regain consciousness and died in the shallow grave on the golf course where an attempt had been made to bury her.”

  “I see. Any more about the other victim?” Mackay asked.

  Hunter nodded. “The young woman knocked down on Comiston Road has been identified as Mary-Ann's daughter, Annie Johnson. Annie was severely injured when she was hit by a light coloured 4x4 last Friday. A woman out walking her dog saw the incident and tried to help the victim. She saw the car but not the driver, nor did she get the registration number. She is sure the vehicle is silver or white, in colour and a 'big car', but she does not know the make.”

  “Terrific!” Jane exploded.

  “Another resident heard the impact and went to her window. She saw the vehicle but it did not stop. She did not see the accident, but did report it. The witness thought the vehicle was a Land Rover or a Range Rover. She also did try to write down the registration number. Unfortunately from the investigations we have done it appears she did not write it down correctly.”

  “She's not alone,” John murmured.

  Hunter frowned and cleared his throat before he continued. “Annie has no other injuries apart from those inflicted by the car. She is, however, several months pregnant with twins.”

  “It is desperately sad, but there is no way the medics can save Annie,” Tim said. “She is presently on life support in an attempt to save her babies. I went when Sam took the photos of her. She is a good-looking girl.”

  “Her father has identified his wife and daughter from photographs. He is presently in the cells here,” Hunter stated. “I plan to take him to the morgue and the hospital for formal identifications.”

  “When Joe was in the car with us he was muttering about the babies' dad being Frankie Hope,” Tim commented. “Maybe we can speak to Frankie when we go to see Billy's widow?”

  The officers in the room looked at him solemnly. Myerscough stared at his shoes. He had never volunteered that much at a briefing before. Colin (the only officer in the room with young children) fiddled with his pen.

  Hunter took a deep breath and began to speak again. “Myerscough and I picked up Joe Johnson. He is Mary-Ann's husband and Annie's father. He only became aware of Annie's pregnancy when Mary-Ann told him recently. He certainly wasn’t thrilled at the thought of Frankie being the dad, was he, Tim?”

  “No, Sir.” Tim shook his head.

  “Joe is a habitual drunk,” Hunter went on.

  “He had an accident working on the Forth Bridge and hasn't worked since. Very bad injuries all down his right side,” Tim offered.

  “Well, he claims he cannot remember the last time he saw his wife, nor what happened at that time. He does not hold a driving licence. He lost it through a DUI three years ago. However, it was John and I who interviewed Johnson because Tim realised he knew the man's wife.”

  Tim spoke again. “Mary-Ann worked as the cleaner for my father for many years, although I had never met her husband. In fact, I would never have put the two of them together. She was always neat and clean – something Joe Johnson certainly is not.”

  “Quite. Well, we detained Johnson to allow him to sober up before the formal identifications.”

  “What were the charges?” Mackay asked.

  “Murder, attempted murder, and drunk and disorderly,” Hunter replied.

  “That'll do it,” John smiled.

  “For the good of the night shift I suggested they allow Mr Johnson to have a shower and give him a change of clothes.”

  “His own stuff is in a big black bag. Don't mix it up with the rubbish: that's not nearly as smelly!” Colin Reid laughed.

  “Thanks Colin,” Hunter said. “Johnson will be bailed today, along with his laundry.”

  The tension in the room evaporated as the officers laughed.

  Hunter spoke again. “We need to re-interview Billy's widow, also Frankie Hope and Jamie Thomson. Mel, you can come with me to see the handsome Jamie. I wonder also, Sir, whether Jane could make time to clear up a couple of things with Sir Peter?”

  “Very well, DI Wilson, but what do we need to trouble the Justice Minister with? Would a telephone call not suffice? He is a busy man.”

  “I think a visit might b
e more appropriate than a phone call. We need to clarify some points in his statement, and also discuss another item found in Jamie's possession.”

  “Very well. DS Renwick can accompany me to meet with Sir Peter. Jane, liaise with his secretary to check when it will be convenient for him.”

  The meeting adjourned. Jane looked less than delighted with her assignment. Rachael caught her eye and winked.

  Tim was surprised to hear that a further meeting with his father was considered necessary. He thought Mackay and Renwick had already questioned his dad at length and got all the information they could need. After all, his father was the victim of the crime, not the perpetrator. Of course, nobody would tell him what this next visit was about; he was excluded from his father's case.

  Should he phone his father to warn him about it? No, he was being silly. No need for a warning. Stupid thought. It was a visit for clarification, nothing sinister. Just extra detail.

  Tim went to grab a coffee. He was at the machine when his phone rang. It was Sophie. Sophie never had time to make social calls during the day, so Tim realised something must be important. He took the call.

  “What's up sweetie?”

  “Tim,” she whispered. “I have to be quick. I shouldn't really call, but it's about your dad.”

  She paused. He heard her say to someone else: “Be there in just a moment. Tim’s just phoned. I'll get rid of him quickly and be with you.”

  “Soph, what is going on? Is this a 'pocket call' by accident, or is something wrong?”

  She cut him off. “Tim, shut up and listen. There is a problem with your dad's insurance claim. We act for the insurers.”

  The line went dead. When Tim tried to call Sophie back, her phone was switched off.

  What did that mean? Why had she rung off so suddenly? Tim noticed he was sweating: his heart was beating fast, his breathing was quick and shallow, and his palms were clammy. He dived into the gents and waited until he felt normal again.

  What the hell was wrong? What had Dad been up to this time? Should he contact him? What could be such an issue that Sophie had to call and cut off so abruptly?

  As Tim returned to the corridor, Hunter walked up to him. “I'll need to wait to speak to Jamie again. His ankle is finally less swollen. His operation will take place today, so he won't be able to be interviewed until tomorrow. Mel is delighted. Another day without the banter of the cheeky chappie.” Hunter smiled. “So, I think I'll join your visit to the lovely Edna, and leave Jane to visit your father with DCI Mackay.”

  Tim did not move. It was as if he had not heard the DI. Hunter paused and looked up at the young DC.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, Boss, of course. I'm sorry. Just thinking. We off to see Mrs Hope, then, Sir?” Tim wandered towards the car park.

  “Yes. You drive.”

  He threw the car keys to Tim who caught them absentmindedly in one hand. “You sure there's nothing up with you, young Myerscough?”

  “I suppose. Sorry, no, Sir. Everything's fine.”

  Tim strode to the car with the uneasy feeling that everything was far from fine, but he did not know what was wrong, or why.

  Tim drove to the Hope household in West Mains Road in silence. He decided that he would take the notes of the interview. It might mask the concern on his face.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Tim pulled up outside Edna Hope's house. He got out of the car briskly and opened the gate for Hunter. The senior officer led the way up the short path to the semi-detached home. Hunter clocked the cars in the driveway, but neither were of any interest to him. Frankie opened the door before Hunter rang the bell.

  “Come on in. My mam said you were coming. She's out.”

  Hunter frowned.

  “She's at the doc's getting pills for sleeping. Don't know why. She does nothin'. So what if she doesn't sleep? Guilty conscience, I expect, for all the grief she gave my pop. She and my pop were always bollocking lately.”

  “What were they arguing about, Frankie?” Hunter asked.

  “Oh, everything, but usually about me. You'd think she'd be glad he's away.” He glanced at them both for the first time.

  “That's a bit harsh, Frankie,” Hunter said. “Your folks have been together a good long time now. It's perfectly natural for your mother to be grieving and need some help to sleep.”

  The boy shrugged. “Anyways, she says if you want, you can wait.”

  “Thanks, Frankie. We will.”

  Hunter offered a hand to shake as he entered the living room. Frankie responded and shook the Inspector's hand. Tim followed Hunter's lead and shook hands too. Frankie's hand was damp. Stress, Tim guessed.

  “DC Myerscough,” Tim said.

  “Myerscough? Your dad knows Arjun? You look like your dad.”

  Tim felt the frost in the boy's attitude begin to melt. He felt for him. Frankie was only a kid who had just lost his dad. Acting big and feeling scared, Tim guessed.

  The living room looked nothing like the one that Jane had described. Although the house was still full of stale cigarette smoke, there was no sign of the old, drab suite and curtains she had mentioned. Instead, it contained a smart black leather sofa and two black leather Lazy Boy chairs. The room extended all the way to the back of the house, with the dining area in the back half where the modern, glass dining table was surrounded by six black leather and steel chairs. A new solid oak dresser displayed fashionable plates.

  Tim noticed a Bang & Olufsen surround sound system and a massive television fixed on the wall above the fireplace. He thought all the contents were far too big for the modest-sized room. It felt cluttered. The room lacked no modern accessory, except for good taste.

  “Actually, Frankie, if you've got a moment, could we have a word with you?” Tim asked tentatively. Then he looked over at Hunter in case he had overstepped the mark. Hunter nodded almost imperceptibly.

  “Okay if we sit down?” Tim nodded at the sofa.

  “Aye. I suppose. But what do you want with me? And, by the way, I'm not making mugs of tea for fecking police, just because you're here when Mam's out!”

  “No, of course not. We just needed to confirm something with you.” Tim stared at the young man and could not help but feel sorry for him. His acne must be a constant source of embarrassment, teasing and bullying. He remembered those days with a shudder, and was glad he was no longer a teenager.

  “Confirm? Like what?”

  “Have a wee chat, Frankie,” Hunter added. “May be you could help us?”

  “I don't think so, pal. Do you know who my uncle is? There's little love for you lot here. You do know that?”

  “Yes, I understand,” Hunter said quietly. “Your Uncle Ian should be home soon, I expect.”

  “Aye, on the tag. That should be a bundle of laughs.”

  “We really wanted to speak to you about Arjun Mansoor. You know him?”

  “Arjie Barjie? Aye, I know him. He runs Uncle Ian's showroom just now. I work weekends there. We're not best mates or owt like that.”

  “No, of course. Does he have anything else going on at the showroom?”

  “Don't think so. Like what?”

  “Any imports, perhaps? Things coming in?”

  “Aye, cars. We sell cars!”

  “Anything come in with the cars, Frankie?”

  “For God's sake. Tyres? I don't know, ask Arjun.” Frankie was becoming exasperated. He clearly knew nothing of use about Mansoor.

  Hunter suspected those in the know of any drug importation were way above Frankie's pay grade. He nodded at Tim, who spoke again.

  “Do you know someone called Annie Johnson, Frankie?”

  The change in the lad was as immediate as it was remarkable. He relaxed, smiled broadly, and threw himself onto a chair.

  “Yes, of course I know Annie. We're at the same school. She's fourth year. I'm in sixth. I'm a prefect! I'm taking her to the Christmas dance.” He nodded proudly. “Annie is my girl. We're an item.”

>   “Ah, congratulations,” Tim said. He felt almost sick for this boy. He was going to be devastated to learn about Annie's fate. Tim was thinking the young man was punching well above his weight.

  ***

  “Frankie, how long have you and Annie been an item?” Hunter asked.

  Frankie grinned. “We've been together since the summer. She came with me to the school dance at the end of last year too, you know.”

  “How about her family? Do you get on with them?”

  “No, we couldn't tell our folks. Annie's mam does for my folks, and my mam doesn't think Annie's good enough for me. With her mam being our cleaner, like.” He looked down at his jeans. “Annie's pop's always drunk. He never knows what's going on, anyway. I thought her mam liked me, well enough. But she's no for us either.”

  “I see,” said Tim, nodding. “Frankie, how long has Annie's Mum worked for your family?” he asked.

  “Two years, maybe? About that. But we've known her forever. Or my pop did. He used to hang about with old Joe, before he even knew Mary-Ann. Pop and Joe met her at the dancing.” He giggled at the old fashioned phrase. Then he shrugged again. “My mam didn't go dancing. She had me to care for, of course. When Mary-Ann started going out with Joe, properly, they all fell out. Uncle Ian stuck his oar in too. I don't know why. She's nice, Mary-Ann, really.”

  Frankie glanced through the window, willing his mother to come back and end this “chat”. He did not like policemen and he certainly did not trust them. He was worried he'd say too much.

  His Annie was none of their business. Why hadn't she phoned?

  ***

  “Where is Annie, Frankie?” Hunter asked.

  “What? Why do you want to know? She's got nothing to do with you! She's a good girl, my Annie.” Frankie fiddled nervously with a spot on his face. Watching him made Tim feel awkward.

  “I would like to show you a picture and see if you recognise this person.” Hunter drew Annie's hospital photo from his pocket and handed it to Frankie. In less than a second the lad's face transformed from a warm smile to horror and bewilderment.

  “That's my Annie! Why do you have a photo of her asleep? That's not right. You're a bunch of wankers.” The lad's voice broke. “She's having my twins! Where is she?”