The Black Isle

by Ed James

  ‘Sorry for barging in, Scott.’

  ‘Don’t mention it. I’d rather my subordinates jumped in and were right, than were wrong or kept it to themselves.’ Cullen set off. Or tried to.

  Hunter grabbed his sleeve. ‘Are you doing anything about the drugs haul?’

  Cullen glared at Hunter’s hand. ‘There’s another minibus halfway up the A9 full of my old drug squad buddies. We’ll dig into it.’ He patted Hunter on the back. ‘Just find that phone, okay?’ He left them, walking over to the minibus. Slowly, like he was looking for someone.

  A tall woman stepped down from the vehicle, her dark hair hanging loose in a lopsided ponytail. Looked slimmer than Hunter remembered. DS Yvonne Flockhart. Hunter’s ex. She made a beeline for Cullen and they embraced. Not the hug of colleagues, but of lovers. Lingering fingers stroking fabric with a shared intimacy. Intensely staring into each other’s eyes.

  Hunter’s gut lurched, the butterflies twisting and turning down there. ‘What the hell?’ His fists were clenched. ‘Sleazy bastard was sleeping in my flat for four months while he was shagging my ex.’

  Chantal rolled her eyes. ‘Who are you more jealous of?’

  ‘What?’

  She pinched his cheek. ‘Winding you up.’

  ‘Don’t.’ Hunter spotted some fury in her eyes. Her insecurity, deeply hidden beneath all that bluster and arrogance and cool. He pinched her cheek this time. ‘Look, it’s not the fact they’re an item. I don’t care. I’ve got you. I win.’

  She shook her head. ‘You know how to charm a girl.’

  ‘It’s the subterfuge. Or it’s that Scott can’t talk to me about his life. I thought we were over it. I mean…’ Hunter sighed. ‘That messed me up for years. Losing my girlfriend because she’d… It stopped me being able to trust anyone. You helped me get over it. I’m not angry anymore. It’s just… stupidity.’

  Chantal shot him a warm smile. ‘Come on, let’s find that phone.’

  ‘I’m worried what else we might find in there.’ Hunter got in the car and sat on the driver seat. Still spotless. Jock’s two newspapers sat on the passenger seat. Hunter popped the glovebox and a box of ribbed condoms tumbled out, along with a copy of the Times. Hunter opened it and a porno mag was rolled up inside. All those trips to the newsagent. The guy was a sex addict.

  ‘What?’ Chantal was in the back seat, rooting around under the seats. ‘You got something?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘This is creepily clean and tidy, Craig. Given the state you leave our flat in, you clearly didn’t inherit his OCD.’

  ‘Organised to the point of psychopathy, right?’ Hunter popped the hatch between the seats. ‘I see what you mean.’

  Chantal opened the central console.

  ‘Scott’s already—’

  ‘Why would you put a torch in—’ She scowled. ‘Oh my fuck.’ She gritted her teeth, looking like she was going to be sick, and slammed the lid. ‘Well, there’s no phone.’

  Hunter took one last look around the cabin. ‘Nope.’

  ‘You got any idea where he might be?’

  ‘None.’

  A big sweating lump came over, hands in pockets. ‘Which one of you is Cullen?’

  ‘Him.’ Hunter pointed at the embracing couple, got a rabbit-in-the-headlights look from Cullen. ‘Why?’

  ‘Got a guy upstairs wants to see him and a Craig Hunter?’

  Hunter followed Cullen through the station, desperately needing another coffee. Or his bed. Definitely needed something to eat.

  Cullen stopped by the door. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘No idea, mate.’

  ‘You first.’ Cullen beckoned him into the room.

  Hunter entered.

  Lord Oswald sat there, dressed to the nines. Tweed flat cap, Barbour jacket, pink shirt, red trousers. ‘Ah, Inspector.’ He gave a curt smile to Hunter. ‘And you’ve brought a friend. Of course, the matter at hand pertains directly to him.’

  Callum, his assistant, stood over his right shoulder, hands in gloves, his black suit paired with a dark-grey shirt and tie.

  Cullen took his time sitting, his usual trick while he tried to own the room and everyone in it. He beckoned for Hunter to join him, then smiled at Oswald. ‘How can I help?’

  Hunter stayed standing by the door, trying to size up Callum’s threat level. He reckoned he could handle him, if anything came of it, not that it was likely to in a police station.

  Oswald gestured at the chair opposite. ‘Please, sit.’

  ‘I’m good.’

  ‘Well, then.’ Oswald tensed his forehead, then focused on Cullen. ‘I wish to make a formal complaint about Mr Hunter here and his father for trespassing on an oil rig presently under the care of my business.’

  Cullen nodded slowly. ‘Is that so?’

  ‘I have evidence of this trespass.’ Oswald reached into his jacket and produced an envelope, which he placed on the table in front of him. Just that bit too far away for Cullen to reach. ‘This packet contains CCTV footage of Mr Hunter here and his father aboard Osprey Alpha this morning.’ He tapped the envelope. ‘Please ensure, as his superior officer, that he’s taken to task for this.’

  Cullen looked at Hunter but didn’t seem to know what to do.

  Hunter walked over and grabbed the packet, then started leafing through it. Grainy black-and-white shots of him, Jock and Fiona, both as a group and after they’d split up. At least three of Jock sifting through the pornography.

  ‘He was trespassing, Inspector.’

  ‘I was following a lead in a missing persons case. You’d refused access.’

  ‘Which is entirely my right. It’s an incredibly dangerous place.’

  ‘Filled with a shitload of heroin?’

  Oswald laughed. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘Let me guess, that’s nothing to do with you?’

  ‘Good heavens, man, I’m a respectable businessman.’ Oswald scowled at Cullen. ‘Now, given he’s admitted to trespassing, can you please prosecute him and his father?’

  ‘See, we have video evidence of the drugs. Boxes of heroin.’ Hunter waited for any reaction from Oswald, but the guy was good. ‘Thing is, when we went up to the rig, the drugs were gone.’

  ‘Inspector, I insist you prosecute them.’ Oswald leaned forward, keeping his voice low. ‘When I warn people off trespassing, they usually comply. When your chap here came to see me, I just knew he’d go up there. It was written all over his face. And there’s a CCTV system. It was merely a case of watching them stagger around in the wind. It’d be amusing if it wasn’t so illegal. Now, are you going to prosecute them for me?’

  Hunter rested on the table with a grin. ‘Something missing from this lot, though.’

  Oswald looked baffled, his mouth hanging open. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Well, you’ve got me and my father. There was someone else with us.’

  ‘There are three people in the photos. One of them is a local fisherwoman.’ Oswald rolled his eyes. ‘You saw fit to bring two members of the public along with you.’

  ‘Okay. I meant someone else. You sent your goon after us.’ Hunter held his hand above his head. ‘Big lump, foreign accent.’ He nodded at Callum. ‘Even bigger than him. The guy who shot at me.’

  Cullen said nothing.

  Hunter looked back at Oswald. ‘He looked pretty handy. And I’m pretty sure he’s responsible for the murder of—’

  ‘I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.’

  Cullen joined Hunter in standing. ‘Sir, can we access your CCTV remotely?’

  ‘Certainly.’ Oswald clicked his fingers at his assistant.

  Callum nodded and pulled out an extra-large Samsung smartphone. He held it out to them, showing footage of Hunter and Jock cocking about on the rig, blown about by the wind, shouting at each other as they tried to leave.

  The attacker appeared at the edge of the screen, climbing up a ladder. Then his whole body, before he slipped up and
over, then disappeared off to the side.

  Hunter snatched the mobile off him and hit pause, then wound it back. Not a great image, but good enough. ‘That’s him.’

  Oswald stared at the screen. ‘Well, I’ve never seen him before in my life.’

  ‘He doesn’t work for you?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’ Oswald waved a hand at his lumbering goon. ‘Gentlemen, this is my head of security. Callum McBeth.’

  Hunter focused on him. ‘And let me guess, you’ve no idea who this guy is, right?’

  ‘Of course he doesn’t.’

  Hunter shot Oswald a glare. ‘I’m asking him, not you.’

  ‘No idea who he is.’ Callum had a thin and shrill voice, like he’d lost both bollocks in a freak gardening accident as a youth.

  ‘But you’ve seen him?’

  ‘Just on that video.’

  ‘So if you gave us full access to your CCTV, we wouldn’t see him taking all the drugs off the rig? Wouldn’t see him—’

  ‘We’ve lost the footage.’ Callum folded his bulky arms but his suit didn’t pucker at all, just stayed at the perfect fit. ‘We had a break-in at the weekend and someone took the servers.’ He pointed at the ceiling. ‘I’m working with your colleagues in Inverness on floor three.’

  ‘Just so happened, right?’

  ‘Our theory is it’s an inside job. I’m interviewing all of our employees.’

  ‘Sounds like you know who’s involved.’

  ‘Not yet.’ Callum licked his lips. ‘But we had a report of two people up on the rig the week before. Headed up myself but certainly didn’t see any giant boxes of drugs. No sign of them. Which is why we installed the security system. Not that it’s doing us any good.’

  ‘Mate, we’ve got video evi—’

  ‘Craig.’ Cullen shot Hunter a warning glare.

  Oswald got to his feet, pocketing his smartphone. ‘Inspector, are you going to charge him with trespass?’

  Cullen lifted his shoulders. ‘This isn’t my remit. I’m a murder squad detective and so is Craig. He reports to me, that’s true, but this is a local policing matter. Suggest you file a complaint with the front desk.’

  Cullen stopped in the corridor and opened a door. ‘In here.’ He held it for Hunter, then shut it when Hunter was in the room. ‘If it turns out little Lord Fauntleroy back there isn’t involved in all this, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to protect you.’

  Hunter stormed over to the window and looked out. Cracking view up to the castle, a Victorian military stronghold rather than Edinburgh’s ancient landmark. ‘I’m looking for my brother, Scott. That was his last known location.’

  ‘Very noble, mate, just watch where you’re looking.’

  Hunter turned to face Cullen. ‘You think I’ll get done for this?’

  ‘Probably. I’ll help you any way I can, but he’s got evidence you were up there where you shouldn’t have been. Whether you go down for it, that’s not for me to speculate on. But you’re on my time and your brother’s case is now part of mine.’

  Hunter felt a surge of relief. ‘I appreciate it.’

  ‘First, you think that security guy’s lying about the lost CCTV?’

  ‘Undoubtedly. But we’d need a warrant to get access to their logs, by which time they’ll make their servers disappear, assuming they haven’t already.’ Hunter held Cullen’s blue-eyed gaze. ‘The way I see it, I think someone’s using Lord Oswald’s rig to smuggle heroin into the country. Possibly with his knowledge, possibly without. The guy on the rig was hardcore, Scott.’

  ‘I’ve done my time in the trenches on drugs cases over the last few years. You wouldn’t stick that amount of smack on an oil rig you weren’t in complete control of.’

  ‘You think I’m on to something?’

  Cullen spent a few seconds thinking it through, staring up at the ceiling. ‘Craig, you know I’m an ambitious prick, so tell me if this is my ego getting ahead of me.’

  ‘No, it all works. At least in my head.’

  ‘Okay. We need to find this guy who attacked you. Get him in a room, see what he knows.’

  ‘Guy like that won’t speak.’

  ‘He might not, but he’ll be on a record somewhere. And either someone he knows talks, or someone who knows him will.’

  ‘That’s pretty dark.’

  Cullen shrugged. ‘At least two murders here. I’ll get as dark as I need to.’

  Hunter leaned back against the door. ‘We still need to find Fiona’s phone. And my old man.’

  Cullen nodded. ‘Right. Let’s go back to first principles. Flush him out.’

  ‘And how do we do that?’

  Hunter had him. Cullen stood there, hands in pockets. Kept starting to say something, then stopping.

  ‘Boys!’ Chantal came over, holding a note in a gloved hand. ‘This is from your old man.’

  Hunter read it:

  Sorry Craig

  Need to get back to Cromarty

  Love,

  Daddy

  23

  Hunter pulled up outside the Cromarty Hotel and waited. The TDI engine in Jock’s Passat had kicked the arse of Cullen’s Golf GTi. That or Hunter’s driving skills had been the difference maker. ‘Daddy… Jesus.’

  Chantal was in the passenger seat, arms wrapped around her torso, scowling at everything she looked at in the pervert’s vehicle. ‘Where the hell is he?’ She did a lot of listening.

  The town was lit up for the impending night-time, but the sun was still up, hanging over the horizon above distant hills Hunter didn’t know the names of.

  ‘Right, then.’ Chantal put the phone to her ear. ‘Methven.’ That’s all she needed to say.

  ‘Come on, let’s go.’ Hunter got out into the cool night air and waited for Chantal to join him before locking the car with the remote. He set off to the front door, but took one last look at the Passat. ‘That’s an expensive motor, isn’t it?’

  Chantal opened the door. ‘Can be, why?’

  ‘It’s just…’ Hunter frowned before stepping inside. ‘How the hell does he afford it?’

  Chantal’s turn to frown. ‘You lead on, I’ve got a call to make.’

  Hunter nodded, not wanting to even know who the call was to, then entered the hotel bar. The exact same array of drinkers as when they’d checked in almost twenty-four hours ago.

  The barman was standing back, thumbs tucked into an apron emblazoned with the logo of a brewery Hunter couldn’t even read. ‘Can I get you, mate?’

  ‘I’m staying here with my old man. You might remember him?’

  ‘Hard to forget, son. Trying to order a pint when he came in at two this morning. Nae danger.’

  Hunter rested his hands on the bartop. ‘Trouble is, I haven’t heard from him in a few hours. He been in today?’

  ‘Not that I’ve seen.’

  Hunter leaned in close. ‘He’s not quite got all of his marbles and he’s had heart troubles. Any chance I can get a look in his room?’

  The barman looked over and nodded at a man slightly raising his pint glass. ‘Be a sec, Sid.’ Then back to Hunter. ‘Pal, I can’t just—’

  ‘I’m a cop.’ Hunter held out his warrant card. ‘I don’t like to play it like this, but I’m worried about him.’

  The barman sighed. ‘Let me pour this pint, then I’ll get you the cleaner’s key.’ He took a fresh glass and started pouring Best into it.

  The door clattered open and Chantal stumbled in, scowling back at the entrance. Didn’t even elicit a look from the drinkers. Which surprised Hunter—maybe it was more enlightened up here, but down in the central belt, an Asian-Scot, especially a female one, entering a pub would’ve got a fair amount of interest. She walked over and took Hunter’s hand, then whispered in his ear. ‘I checked. Your father owns the car, assuming he’s John Edward Hunter.’

  ‘Jock for short, aye.’

  The barman handed Hunter the key. ‘Here you go, son.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Hunter led off to t
he stairwell. ‘He definitely owns a 68-plate Passat?’

  ‘It’s on a lease, but he’s the legal keeper.’

  Hunter held the door for her. ‘Curiouser and curiouser.’

  Hunter knocked on the door, making the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign sway a little. ‘Jock?’

  Silence.

  In another room, a vacuum rumbled away. Sounded like it was upstairs.

  He tried again. ‘You in, Dad?’

  Still nothing from inside.

  Hunter unlocked the door. ‘One last chance, Jock.’ He waited, listening hard. Then he was struck with the fear that his father might be dead in there. One body tended to lead to multiple bodies, at least in his mind. He jerked the handle and opened wide.

  Empty.

  The double bed was made, the pillows puffed up almost like nobody had slept there. But Jock’s dark purple sleep mask lay on the chest to the left, resting on his Kindle. His suitcase sat on the luggage rack.

  Hunter looked in the bathroom. Everything was dry. Just some obsessively placed toiletries. Razor, shaving foam, can of deodorant, toothbrush, small toothpaste.

  ‘He’s not been here since breakfast.’

  ‘Seriously, this is how tidy he is?’

  ‘You saw his car.’

  She snarled. ‘And his sex toy.’

  ‘Where the hell is he?’

  ‘Step back, Craig. You were in Inverness and he ran off when he saw our cars. Where else could he have gone?’

  ‘Back to Murray’s, but that’s hours away. Train to Edinburgh, then down to Gala. Taxi to Murray’s.’

  ‘We could check.’ Chantal walked over to the window and looked out. ‘Who’s that guy? The Irish one?’

  ‘Right. Warner.’ Hunter folded his arms and played it through. The trouble with an estranged father—other than the father bit—was the estranged part. He just didn’t know enough about the old bastard to be able to second-guess his movements. He squatted and started sifting through the luggage, hoping for no more sex toys. ‘If I was to give him the benefit of the doubt, I’d say he’s looking for his missing son.’