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

by Val Penny

  When Tim got back Sophie was in bed, but still awake.

  “You get it sorted with your Dad?”

  “I wouldn't say that, no. But I know more than I did. More than I want to.”

  “Want to tell me?”

  “Not really. I'm pretty stressed.”

  “You think you're stressed? You don't know the meaning of the word!”

  “What on earth do you mean?”

  “I'll give you stress,” she muttered. She sounded cross, but he was too tired to wonder why.

  “Can it wait? I don't know if I can cope with any more tonight.”

  “Not really. I'm stressed too, Tim. You have no idea how much. And it's not good for me. I'm pregnant.”

  Despite himself, Tim smiled. He rubbed her belly gently.

  “Oh, Sophie! Now that is so wonderful. It makes today worthwhile. I'm thrilled. So happy. My beautiful, precious, darling Sophie. This is fantastic.”

  Tim lay staring at the ceiling until dawn. A father. He would be a father. Now this was exciting. Scary. Sensational.

  ***

  Sophie also lay awake. Silent tears streamed down her face. She’d said it out loud before she’d thought it through.

  How could she tell him now that she would not keep the baby? Could not keep the baby?

  Shit. Why had she told him at all?

  Chapter Thirty

  The following morning, after the briefing, Tim was quiet and sat down next to Bear. They were tasked with the boring job of checking names again the registration numbers. Bear could not work out why Tim was smiling. Bear did not share his friend's apparent delight.

  “You all right? Why the grin?”

  “Triumph of good over bad.”

  “Huh? What does that mean, Timmy boy?”

  “Promise you won't tell?”

  “Probably,” Bear smiled.

  “Sophie's expecting.”

  “Expecting? Wow, that's great, man.”

  “Sssh. Early days, so I'm not meant to tell anybody. But I think I might burst with delight,” Tim grinned broadly. “There are some things not looking too good right now, and this is so amazing, so brilliant. But you mustn't tell. Not even Mel.”

  “Your secret's safe with me, Tim. That's great news. So what's so bad that this triumphed?”

  “You really don't want to know, but you will soon enough, I guess.”

  “What are you two so happy about? I could do with some good news.” The men had not heard Mel approaching.

  “Nothing, babe,” Bear said unconvincingly.

  “Come on, spill!” she demanded.

  “It's just rugby. Tim got the best results of the year on the beep test at training last week.”

  “Yeah, beep test,” said Tim.

  “Huh! You boys are easily pleased. Beep test, indeed.”

  “Beep test,” Bear confirmed.

  “Mel, are you ready? We're off to see your love interest, Jamie Thomson.”

  “Sure, Boss. Coming,”

  Hunter tossed her the car keys. She caught them in her left hand and turned to Bear.

  “Beep test, my eye. We'll talk later,” Mel said as she followed Hunter out of the incident room.

  ***

  “No offence intended, but I have never been so glad to see the back of your good lady,” Tim smiled.

  “None taken. Neither have I!” Bear grinned. “Back to the grind.”

  “Yes, but let's do it a bit differently.”

  “How? In the pub with a pint?”

  “I wish. No, let's start this back to front. Let's make a list of suspects and check the registrations of their cars.”

  “You know, that might actually work! You start the list, I'll get the coffee.”

  Tim began listing the suspects while making a mental note to see Hunter Wilson as soon as he got back. That was not a meeting he was looking forward to, but he would prefer to get it over with.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “Good to see you, honey,” Jamie said as Mel and Hunter approached. “I am so sorry, I'm really not feeling my best today. I am suffering, true pain and misery. The only thing that keeps me going is Jaffa Cakes and the sight of your bonnie face. But next time it'd be nice if you'd bring me a box of chocolates, or something tasty like you!”

  “Sorry, Jamie, it's not going to happen.” Mel plonked herself down on a chair well out of his arm's reach. She grabbed one of Jamie's Jaffa Cakes, shoved it into her mouth whole, pulled out her notebook and glanced at Hunter.

  The DI sat down quietly and looked at Jamie. “Jamie, I've been speaking to your cousin, Frankie Hope.”

  “Frankie? Aye, so?”

  “How much of your money do you make from dealing drugs, Jamie?”

  “Oh, for the love of wee the man upstairs! Are you stupid or just thick? I do not do drugs. A wee bit of wacky baccy maybe, on occasion.” Turning to Mel he continued, “Medicinal, you know for my nerves?”

  She did not lift her eyes from her notes, so Jamie looked back at Hunter.

  “But I can usually just blag a spliff, you know? It's a sad day when I have to buy my own weed. I'm not a dealer. I know a few, but not me. Not my style. ”

  “Aye, right,” said Mel sarcastically.

  Hunter and Jamie both frowned at her. She blushed. Hunter nodded at Jamie to continue.

  “So, Jamie, tell me again, please, just for the record, how come you had cocaine down your pants when they brought you into hospital?”

  “Are you deaf?”

  The young man was exasperated. He struggled with his pillows at one end and plaster cast at the other to sit up properly.

  “You listen to me, now,” he said, with more authority than Mel thought he might muster. The cocky lad-about-town had left the room. Jamie clearly wanted to be taken seriously.

  “Arjun Mansoor tried to get me and Frankie involved a while back,” he went on, “but we said no. I've heard he's got a young guy he wants to start working the university and college scene, Cameron or Callum something like that, but that's none of my business, because I don't do drugs. I don't use them. Much. I don't sell them, I don't deal them.” Jamie sighed. “Is that clear enough for you?”

  He grimaced. The effort of sitting up in bed and making his point was obviously taking its toll. Mel almost felt sorry for him.

  Jamie spoke again. “Drugs is a dirty game. Dealing drugs is worse. You're never top of the heap. There's always someone ready to dish the dirt or get one over on you. My dad taught me that early in life. He's wise. You know?” He looked earnestly at both detectives, then continued.

  “Now, a little redistribution of wealth, that's different. I'm for that. A man's got to eat, and in this financial climate a wee bit of the nimble-fingered routine is only to be expected. Isn't it? The wealth gap between the rich and poor is larger now than ever before. I learned that on an episode of Tonight. So I may seek to redress that from time to time, in my favour. But that's it. No coke, no heroin, no legal highs. It's not my style. It messes with my clarity of mind and thinking, especially when I'm working.”

  “Did you swallow a dictionary, Jamie?” asked Mel.

  He glanced at her. “I've been asked that before. I'm not thick. I was just failed by the state education system. Now, I did remove a few trinkets and cash from Mr Sir Myerscough, but I didn't know about the coke. Honest. That was wrapped up in the cash. I did take the money, but that’s all I thought it was. A nice wad, but I didn't see the drugs. I was right gutted when they found it. I was more gutted that it wasn't as much money as I thought. Grim, eh? I felt right cheated.”

  “Even if we believe you, Jamie, why would Sir Peter have cocaine?” Mel asked.

  “You're the detective, love, not me. You work it out.”

  “Jamie, just one more thing,” Hunter said, rising from the uncomfortable plastic chair. “What kind of car do you drive?”

  “Drive? Me? I've not even sat ma test, mate. I sometimes get a wee shot of my dad's car or with Auntie Edna. I was going t
o use that money for a few more lessons before I try for the test. I've passed the theory. That was easy.” Jamie smiled at Mel. “When we go out, love, I'll have to hire a limousine so we can be completely hands-on.” He winked.

  Mel felt slightly sick. She closed her notebook and walked out of the ward, leaving Hunter to say goodbye to Jamie.

  “Did you believe him, Boss?”

  “Yes, I did. I wish I didn't, but I did.”

  “Me too. Pity, isn't it?”

  “We'll have to see what Mackay and Jane come back with from the Justice Secretary, but I would not like to be in his shoes right now. I think I'll phone Jane. This could turn nasty, quickly. Come on, let's grab a bite to eat in the hospital canteen before we get back to the ranch. It may not be any better than the station canteen, but at least it will be different.”

  When Hunter and Mel returned to the station, Mel went to write out her report following their meeting with Jamie. In the meantime, Hunter did not go into the incident room. He moved swiftly to his office and fired up his coffee machine. He sat watching the water filter through into the glass jug below. When the coffee was ready, he reached for the telephone to ask Tim Myerscough to join him. The DC had to hear it from him, not anybody else.

  ***

  When Tim arrived, his face was serious, his body tense. He declined the offer of coffee.

  First, Tim listened, in silence, to all that Hunter had to say. His glance flitted between Hunter's face and the floor. When Hunter had told him all that Jamie had said, Tim began to speak.

  “I believe Jamie Thomson,” he said solemnly. “I've had a long talk with my father, and he admits to using the drug as a crutch after my mother's death. Dad got another supply of cocaine from Arjun Mansoor the night of our flat-warming party, because Jamie had stolen his supply. He even snorted some in my flat! Can you believe that? I am so bloody angry! He said he gave a line to one of our team too, Boss, but he wouldn’t give me the name.”

  “I'll need to know that.”

  “Dad also confirmed that he misled his insurers about exactly what Jamie took.” Tim missed out that his father admitted to an affair with Hunter's sister-in-law, although he guessed that was not news to Hunter. Tim also decided not to bother mentioning Billy Hope's narrow escape from conviction over the bank job. The man was dead now, what was the point?

  With growing embarrassment, Tim went on, “There may be several discrepancies on my father's claim form for his insurance company and the statement he gave to us. Perhaps it would be helpful if I were to revise the statement and delete the items that had been mistakenly included?”

  “Mistakenly?”

  “Yes, Sir. I can also confirm that the cocaine found on Jamie Thomson did belong to my father. To that extent, at least, what Jamie had said was true.” Tim paused. “I honestly believe that Dad started using cocaine with his escorts as a way to mask the pain he felt after my mother died. By the time he was appointed as Chief Constable, Mansoor had his claws into him, big time. It was after that the blackmailing started.”

  “Blackmail. Terrific. Followed by dishonesty and fraud. It is not an uncommon progression,” Hunter Wilson said softly. “I’m sorry, Tim, but I can't see this ending well for you father. Me? I want to get Mansoor. He is into drugs up to his neck. How far is he involved in these murders?”

  “That I don't know, and neither does Dad. If he does know anything, I believe he would have told me last night.”

  Tim stood up and handed over a sealed envelope.

  “What's this?” Hunter asked.

  “My resignation, Sir. My father's actions and lifestyle will soon become public. I don't see how that can be avoided.”

  “It can't. We will have to interview him formally as a priority.”

  “I know. My father will have to resign from office and will be a laughing stock. That will bring the force into disrepute. My presence on the force with exacerbate this, and I cannot be part of that.”

  Hunter tore up the envelope without even opening it.

  “Son,” he said. “Your father is a pompous arse. I have never liked him and have less respect for him.” Hunter paused and looked up at the young man. “But I have heard and seen nothing that makes me think you are cast in the same mould. I won't deny that life in the force is going to be uncomfortable for you a few months, but I am not losing a decent officer over this. Keep your head down and keep your nose out of investigations involving your father. In the meantime, can you concentrate on finding out more about Arjun Mansoor? That would be useful. He is going down, I want to make sure of that. For you, this will sort itself out for better or worse. And, as the Good Book says, 'the son shall not bear the iniquity of the father.'”

  Tim looked at Hunter quizzically.

  Hunter smiled. “Ezekiel, Chapter 18. I wasn't a son of the manse for nothing.”

  ***

  Hunter watched Tim go, poured himself a coffee, and stared into space. Something young Jamie had said was beginning to trouble him.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Mackay and Jane were once again in Sir Peter's large sitting room again. Jane was irritated by the DCI’s subservient tone.

  “You have fine wide windows here, Sir Peter.”

  “They offer as much light as this wet, grey afternoon offers. Dreich, today, isn't it?”

  Jane liked the Scots word 'dreich'. That's exactly what the weather was like: cloudy, grey, and wet underfoot. Rain was not far away. But Mackay's typical British pre-occupation with the weather was irrelevant, and it wasted time. In the force today, time was money. Still, the DCI did not seem to be interested in facing up to the hard questions. Not the done thing when a Knight of the Realm and former Chief Constable was involved, you know.

  Jane did not care. She cleared her throat. She would try to begin making some headway into her list of questions, and would start with the easy stuff. No point in alienating her boss too early.

  “You have some beautiful paintings, Sir Peter. I notice two from the wall over there are missing? The paintings by Peploe, I recall?”

  “Yes, well-spotted, Sergeant,” said Mackay. ”Taken in the break-in, of course. They are on your list, so disappointing to have lost them. Peploe, surely the greatest of the Scottish Colourists.”

  Sir Peter said nothing, although Jane noticed that he blushed.

  “But, Boss, the pictures were here the last time we met in this room with Sir Peter, and that was after the break-in. Weren't they, Sir Peter?”

  “Clearly other pictures were taken, and the ones from this room moved to replace them, DS Renwick. Is that not so, Sir Peter?”

  Jane was furious with Mackay for his brown-nosing. How dare he offer this slippery customer an excuse!

  “Perhaps we could leave Sir Peter to make his own explanations, Sir.” The DS bit her lip and wished, not for the first time, that she did not have to be where she was, with Mackay. “This interview would be so much more productive if we listen carefully to Sir Peter, don't you think?”

  “There is no need to take up Sir Peter's time asking questions with such obvious answers.”

  Jane frowned. She would try one more time.

  “Sir Peter, perhaps you could tell me what happened to the Peploes, and when? Where are they, now, exactly?” Out of the corner of her eye she saw Allan Mackay try to kick her ankle to get her to back off. But she would not be deterred, and stared fixedly at Sir Peter Myerscough. The Justice Minister did, at least, have the good grace to look uncomfortable, she thought.

  Jane's phone rang.

  “Saved by the bell,” joked Mackay.

  “Renwick,” said Jane. “Sir?” she said as she heard Hunter's voice. She listened to him silently while the two older men in the room sat and looked at her. She frowned and fixed her gaze out of the window, shivering involuntarily as she watched the wind drive the rain against the wide glass panes. She had predicted the rain as correctly as she had predicted Mackay causing problems with this interview.

  “Yes, we
are still with Sir Peter. We have been discussing his missing paintings, Boss, but I am sure he will assist us with this too.”

  Jane looked over at Sir Peter. He glanced at her quizzically then shrugged and nodded. Allan Mackay smiled at him encouragingly. Again, Jane wished she were conducting this interview without this senior officer cramping her style.

  “No, Boss, we are questioning Sir Peter here, there has been no suggestion that we need to come down to the station.” Jane smiled momentarily. She thought Mackay might have a cardiac arrest at the mention of the station. He shook his head vigorously.

  “No problem, Boss, will do.” Jane put her phone back into her pocket. She smiled at the men. “Where were we?”

  “DS Renwick, I found the tone of that conversation quite out of order,” Mackay said, standing up. “We have taken quite enough of Sir Peter's time, and he has been most helpful.”

  Jane looked at Mackay but spoke to the MSP. “And we do appreciate your help, Sir Peter.”

  She paused. The room was silent, except for the sound of the rain on the windows and a ticking clock.

  “However, that was my DI on the phone, and he has just received additional information. You know we have not recovered everything you reported as stolen, either on the thief's person or at the site where you apprehended him. But we have found something that is not included in your list.” She looked at Sir Peter without blinking. “Can you think of anything that you have since noticed to be missing?”

  “What is it, DS Renwick?” Mackay asked.

  Jane continued to ignore Mackay and spoke pointedly to Sir Peter. “The amount of cash you reported missing was £1050. Jamie Thomson was carrying £400. It is a large discrepancy. Can you explain that difference?”

  “The little tyke must have hidden the rest, Detective Sergeant,” Mackay said gruffly.

  “How did he do that? He had no place to hide it, sir. He was taken to the hospital. It was found by the doctors there.”

  “I must have been mistaken,” Sir Peter said.