The Black Isle

by Ed James

  ‘Right.’ Cullen stared over at the house, eyes twitching. Probably running the same calculations as Hunter, assessing the same probabilities and motives. And giving up in the same way. ‘What a mess.’

  Fiona got out of Jock’s car onto the street and lit up a cigarette. She waved at Hunter but didn’t seem too curious. At least she hadn’t run off when she saw the cops.

  ‘Who’s that, Craig?’

  ‘Fisherwoman from Cromarty. She’s helping us.’

  ‘Us?’

  ‘Me and my old man.’

  ‘And where is your old man?’

  ‘Shit.’ Hunter left Cullen and crossed the road. He looked in the car. No sign of Jock. ‘Oh, Christ.’ He walked over to Fiona. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He came back, took my phone, spoke to someone, then cleared off in a hurry.’

  ‘Didn’t say where he was going?’

  ‘Nope.’

  Hunter just bloody knew it. The hangriness in the past always led to one thing—Jock storming off.

  21

  ‘I’m supposed to believe this heap of shite?’ Bain was interviewing, sitting at a twisted angle opposite Hunter. Kept slapping a hand to his head and it was really getting on Hunter’s nerves. ‘You must think I came up the Clyde in a banana boat.’

  ‘It’s the truth.’ Hunter stayed in the same position. Arms folded across his chest, legs locked together at the ankles. ‘And I only care if DI Cullen here believes it.’

  Bain bristled, his top lip twitching. Hunter never thought he’d miss the moustache, but there you go. ‘Let me get this straight, you just found the boy’s address, aye?’

  ‘No, PC David Robertson gave me it.’

  ‘So you went to this address and just happened to find him in the shower, dead?’

  ‘I know what you’re trying to do here. You went inside that house with DCI Methven, so you’ll know he looks like he’s been dead for days. I was with Chantal all weekend. Have you tracked my father’s phone?’

  ‘Could your old man be involved?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Well, he seems to have shat it and pissed off as soon as we showed up running blues and twos.’

  ‘He was staying at my brother’s home near Galashiels until yesterday morning.’

  ‘That right, aye?’

  ‘You got evidence that he wasn’t? Have you tracked his phone?’

  ‘We did, aye. Turned off first thing this morning.’

  Hunter stared at him for a few seconds. ‘He’s a big fan of your work. Your podcast.’

  Blushing hard, Bain twisted round to focus on Cullen. ‘What do you think, Sundance?’

  ‘It’s DI Cullen.’

  ‘Sorry there.’ Bain cackled out a laugh. ‘Force of habit.’

  ‘Right, Craig.’ Cullen leaned forward and clasped his hands together. ‘Your dad’s missing, for reasons, but we’ve got this Fiona. How does she fit into this?’

  ‘She… knows Shug and Ally McCoull. And she…’ Hunter assessed the risks, ‘came up with…’ Sod it, tell the truth. He leaned forward, clasping his hands just like Cullen. ‘Fiona took me and Jock out to an oil rig. The last place Murray was spotted.’

  ‘That where you found the video?’

  ‘No, that was Shug’s cottage in Fortrose.’

  Cullen leaned over to Bain and whispered in his ear. Bain got up and left the room.

  Hunter waited for him to go. ‘Scott, what the hell’s going on here?’

  Cullen sat back and rested a foot on his thigh. ‘I can’t do you any favours here. Just because we go back a few years and you let me stay on your sofa in my hour of greatest need. Any of that.’

  ‘I wouldn’t ask you to.’ Hunter tried to swallow but his mouth was bone dry. ‘Have you watched the video?’

  Cullen nodded. ‘You think your brother’s dead?’

  ‘I do.’ There, he’d said it at least. ‘But I need to find his body. My mum deserves a funeral.’

  ‘And your dad?’

  ‘Just his own.’

  Cullen laughed.

  Hunter locked eyes with him, showed how desperate he felt. ‘Scott, I’ve been phoning you and Chantal, but—’

  ‘Interviews, Craig. You know the drill. That’s what led us up here.’

  ‘What’s Fiona saying?’

  ‘Square root of fuckin’ bugger all. You sure she’s not involved?’

  Hunter processed it. There were a few avenues that led to her being involved, but many more that didn’t. Still didn’t exonerate her. And nothing explained that big lump being one step behind Hunter at all times. ‘I don’t know. If she’s quiet, I’d say it’s because she’s scared.’

  ‘Why would your dad run?’

  ‘Search me.’ Hunter felt a tingle up his spine, almost made him shiver. ‘In my youth, the problem wasn’t Jock leaving so much as him coming back.’

  ‘Come to think of it, you’ve never talked about him in all the time I’ve known you.’

  ‘There’s a good reason for that.’ Fire surged through Hunter’s veins. ‘I wish he was dead, Scott. He’s an arsehole.’

  ‘But is he involved in a double murder?’

  ‘It’s probably a triple.’ Hunter sat back and clamped his hands on his thighs. ‘He’s a dodgy git, Scott, but that’s it as far as I know.’

  ‘So why’s he run off?’

  ‘He hates cops. Even me.’ Hunter let go of his thighs. ‘Look, Scott. I got shot at when I was on the rig.’

  ‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’ Cullen rolled his eyes. ‘What happened?’

  ‘That’s it. We were rooting around, this boat came over. Big foreign guy came up. Could be Russian, could be Israeli, could be Albanian.’

  ‘Albanian?’

  ‘I don’t know. Chantal told me you were interviewing someone but I don’t want to—’ Hunter sighed at Cullen’s sudden texting. ‘Yep, you’re jumping to conclusions.’

  ‘Worth checking out, Craig.’ Cullen looked up. ‘Any idea who this guy is?’

  ‘No idea. Jock thinks Oswald’s involved, but—’

  ‘Who’s Oswald.’

  ‘Lord Iain Oswald. Owns the rig. I want to speak to him.’

  Hunter leaned forward. He was getting sidelined in his own case. Typical Cullen, always wanting to be front and centre of anything.

  ‘I can’t believe you went on an oil rig.’

  ‘Come on, mate. If Michelle went missing and you found out she’d been—’

  ‘I get it.’ Cullen walked over to the door and opened it. Bain was standing outside like he’d been eavesdropping. ‘Give me a minute.’ He left and shut the door.

  Hunter sat on his own—time and space to think. Time and space he didn’t want to think in. He needed to be out doing something. Finding Jock, finding Murray’s body. Anything but sitting there, staring at his own reflection in an Inverness interview room that stank of boiled fish. Rancid boiled fish.

  The door opened and Chantal stepped inside, pulling it shut behind her. ‘What the hell, Craig?’

  Hunter got up and tried to kiss her, but she pushed him away. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘A dead body? What the hell is going on?’

  ‘Chantal…’ Hunter felt like he’d been kicked in the stomach. Pain stabbed across his ribs like hammers on piano strings. ‘My brother’s probably dead. I’ve just found his boyfriend’s body. And you’re not answering my calls.’

  ‘I was driving!’

  ‘And you can’t pair your phone to the car?’

  ‘With four DC passengers and the constant stress of you going all smoochy, smoochy on the line? Aye, right.’

  ‘But I needed your help. My brother’s dead.’ The air escaped his lungs, squishing him dry. Tears stung his eyes, his nostrils burning.

  ‘Aw, shite.’ Chantal rushed over and held him as he cried, her hand smoothly caressing his back. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Hunter wrapped his arms around her and held her close. ‘It’s okay.’ He brushed tears away, not t
hat he was scared of her seeing him like that, just… ‘I’ve no idea where Jock is.’

  ‘He’s run away?’ She looked up at him. ‘Oh Christ, Craig. As if I wasn’t getting enough of a bad vibe off him.’

  ‘There’s a reason for that. He’s a racist alcoholic who’s completely incapable of—’

  ‘It’s not that. Bain’s got a hard-on for him. Saying he’s connected with the case. Trying to paint him as a suspect.’

  ‘Bain’s got previous for that.’

  The door opened, Cullen this time. ‘Chantal, you’re up. Get the tape running.’

  ‘Sure thing.’ She kissed Hunter on the cheek and whispered: ‘Love you, Craig. Sorry about all this. We’ll find your brother, okay?’

  ‘Love you too.’ He let her leave.

  Cullen held the door for her. ‘So, big guy. You want to watch?’

  The obs suite, a tiny room filled with monitors and recording equipment, stank even worse of fish, like someone had steamed off rotten haddock in there. The source seemed to be an old-style TV in the corner. Hunter opened it. It wasn’t a TV, but a battered old microwave. Inside, a plate full of cod loins rotted away. He shut the door and tried not to think about it.

  Which proved next to impossible.

  On his small monitor he saw Chantal sitting opposite Fiona in a large interview room, much bigger than where Hunter had been processed by Bain and Cullen.

  The obs suite door opened and Elvis waltzed in. ‘Craig, my man.’ He screwed up his face. ‘Jesus, you should get yourself checked. That’s vile.’

  ‘It’s that microwave, not my guts.’ Hunter tried to deflect any blame onto the animal who’d left festering fish in there. ‘How’s your podcast?’

  ‘My— What?’

  ‘Never mind.’

  Elvis scowled at him. ‘She’s quite tidy, isn’t she?’

  ‘So’s your wife.’

  ‘Sod off.’ Elvis stretched out. ‘Seriously, what do you know about my—’

  The speaker erupted. ‘When is this starting?’ Fiona was slouching, looking bored rather than frightened. Clearly not her first rodeo.

  ‘The tape’s running.’ Chantal pointed at the recorder. Actually a tape machine, doubling up in case the ancient technology broke. ‘He’ll be here soon.’

  Cullen entered the room in a flurry of suit jacket and stubble. ‘Miss Shearer. Sorry for the wait.’ He rested his coat on the back of his chair and sat. ‘You okay?’

  ‘I need to get back to Cromarty.’

  ‘All in good time.’ Cullen rasped his stubble, loud enough for the microphone to pick up. ‘But first, I’d be grateful for your help with something. We’re looking for a mate of yours. Guy called Shug.’

  Fiona sniffed. ‘Right.’

  ‘You help us find him, you get out of here, then you can get back up the road to Cromarty. How’s that sound?’

  ‘What’s he supposed to have done?’

  ‘You know an Ally McCoull, right?’

  ‘Aye, Wee Ally.’

  ‘Tell me how.’

  ‘Well, depends on what you want to know, bud. He’s a bitty older than us. Think he came from Crom originally but lives down in Perth now. Owns a boat in Cromarty.’

  ‘Sure it’s not co-owning a boat?’

  ‘Aye, with Shug.’

  ‘And that’s Hugh Mowat?’

  ‘Think so.’

  ‘To your knowledge, do they ever argue about the boat?’

  ‘Not that I heard.

  Mate, you’re going to need to tell me why I’m here.’

  ‘Okay.’ Cullen drummed his fingers on the table, the sound popping the obs suite speakers.

  Elvis burped. ‘Sorry.’ Then again. ‘God that fish is minging.’

  On-screen, Cullen gave Fiona a pistol finger. ‘We believe that Shug, as you know him, or Hugh Paul Mowat as Her Majesty’s government does, visited an address in Perth on Friday and murdered Alistair McCoull.’

  ‘What?’

  Cullen turned to face Chantal, his expression one of extreme worry. ‘Am I not speaking clearly enough?’

  ‘I can hear you just fine. Need me to see if DC Hunter or DC Gordon are hearing this through there?’

  ‘Nah, I’ll take your word for it.’ Cullen looked back at Fiona. ‘Must just be your ears that are the problem.’ He gave a pause. ‘You know anything about that murder?’

  ‘Woah!’ Fiona raised her hands, like she was calming a wild horse. ‘No way, man!’

  ‘Well, we’ve got a huge issue here.’ Cullen clapped his hands together and screwed his face tight. ‘Two dead bodies. One in Perth, and one here in Inverness.’

  Fiona frowned. ‘That boy died?’

  ‘What boy?’

  ‘Keith.’ Fiona deepened her frown. ‘That big lad, Craig, he brought us here looking for a Keith. That who he found in the flat?’

  Cullen nodded.

  ‘Christ.’

  ‘We’ve still not managed to identify the body, but we think it’s him. He seems to have lived a fairly hermitic lifestyle. No personal photos. In fact, no personal possessions other than… Well.’ He flashed a cold smile. ‘You know anything about his death?’

  ‘I’m way out my depth here, bud. I took Big Craig and his old boy up to the rig, just to help out. But if they’re killing people…’

  ‘You think they’re killing people?’

  ‘Isn’t that what you’re saying here?’

  Cullen sat back, his nostrils flaring. Or at least it looked that way on the grainy monitor. Either way, he was clearly flustered and frustrated. ‘I need to speak to Shug.’

  ‘Shug’s not a killer.’

  ‘Okay, but I can’t just take your word for it, can I? He’s our chief suspect in Ally McCoull’s murder. We believe he was in Perth on Friday to meet someone. Same day Mr McCoull was killed.’

  Fiona seemed to shrink in on herself.

  Cullen and Chantal exchanged a look.

  Hunter stood up and got a fresh blast of stale fish. ‘Bollocks to this.’ He walked over to the door.

  Elvis grabbed his arm. ‘Craig, mate, if you go in there, Cullen will go tonto.’

  ‘Like to see him try.’ Hunter brushed him off and walked out into the corridor. Hard to figure out which door led to the interview room. He tried the first one and got a cleaning cupboard. Next door was the right room.

  Cullen looked over at him with a dark scowl, then went back to glaring at Fiona. But he didn’t seem to have anything to ask. That or Hunter had thrown him off his train of thought.

  Hunter sat next to Fiona. ‘Alright, let’s cut the bullshit here. Last time you saw Ally McCoull was in the pub in Cromarty last week, right?’

  ‘Aye?’

  ‘You got barred after you attacked Ally, didn’t you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We’ll get a statement from the barman. Get a few regulars to back it up. Then we’ll start going through your comings and goings since then. I suspect there’s a big gap around Friday night, right?’

  Fiona shook her head, hard. ‘No!’

  ‘Look, the sooner you stop clowning around here, the sooner you’ll get home.’

  Still nothing, just shaking her head.

  ‘I know the guys you hang out with on the boats. Real hardened types. Probably a few of them have done time. Given you some advice. Don’t get a lawyer in. Keep quiet, see what the cops can make stick. I get it. But right now, you’re not my focus.’

  ‘I helped you, bud. Took you out to that rig.’ Fiona looked at Cullen, sly like she knew she was getting Hunter into trouble. ‘And this is how—’

  ‘I appreciate it, but we did pay you for your trouble. And for what it’s worth, I don’t think you killed Ally. We just need to find Shug. That’s it. When we do, you’re out of here. Deal?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Okay, so I know you’ve been messaging Shug on WhatsApp. What’s your passcode?’

  ‘Like I’m telling the cops that.’

  ‘You can walk
away…’

  Fiona sighed. ‘Fuck’s sake. Passcode is 1688.’

  Cullen rolled his eyes. ‘Rangers fan?’

  ‘My dad was. It’s his boat. But it’s no use while your old man’s in the wind.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, he swiped my phone, didn’t he?’

  Hunter groaned. ‘I gave you it back. Shite. Why did he take it?’

  ‘Your old man said he needed to check in.’

  ‘Who with?’

  Fiona shrugged. ‘Didn’t say. He called someone, then dashed off.’

  Meaning the old rascal had nipped away with the only solid lead they had in either case.

  ‘Where’s Jock’s car?’

  Chantal frowned. ‘Downstairs.’

  22

  ‘Oh my god.’ Cullen was in the back seat of Jock’s car. ‘What on earth is this?’ He held up a torch. ‘Is it what I think it is?’

  Hunter could only nod. He leaned into the car. ‘Can I help?’

  ‘Help? Craig, you just barged into that interview without permission. You broke my strategy.’

  ‘Didn’t look like you had one there, mate.’

  ‘And now I’ve got your dad’s Fleshlight all over my hands.’

  ‘Hope he’s cleaned it.’

  ‘That’s… Ugh.’ Cullen got out of the car with a grim expression. ‘Craig, I’m your superior officer, so you need to defer to me.’

  ‘You’re one to talk.’

  ‘Do as I say, not as I do.’

  ‘You found anything in there?’

  ‘Just your father’s sex toy.’ Cullen shut the car door and leaned against it. ‘He got any family up this way he could run to?’

  ‘On Mum’s side, but nobody close. Jock never talks about his side, but he seems to know a hell of a lot about Cromarty.’

  Bright headlights lit up Cullen like a police helicopter. A minibus pulled up outside the station and people started getting out. Big men, athletic women. All in suits. Could tell a mile off they were cops.

  Chantal stopped checking in Jock’s boot to look over. ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘The Livingston MIT.’ Cullen put his hands in his pockets. ‘After Craig found another body, we needed more skulls. Inverness are up to their nipples and Glasgow have, well… it’s Glasgow. So Methven pulled in virtually all the favours he’s been building up for the last couple of years.’ He smirked, like he wanted to say something he shouldn’t. ‘So, aye, they’re helping out too. And I’ve got to brief them about this murder.’