Hunter's Chase

by Val Penny

  “Frankie? Frank?” Edna Hope shouted as she walked into the living room. She nodded at Hunter and Tim. “Police, I suppose. They said you'd be coming. Frankie, get me a cup of tea, there's a good boy.” She threw her ample bulk into the empty chair beside a brimming ashtray without gracing her son with a further glance.

  “These cops have got a photo of Annie, Annie Johnson. Mary-Ann's girl.” Frankie wiped his face with the back of his hand.

  Edna frowned. Hunter stood up and introduced himself and Tim to the tall, stout woman. Edna handed her coat to Frankie to put away.

  “Tea, Frankie!” she ordered. “And remember our guests!”

  “How do you take it?” Frankie asked, but Tim wasn’t sure that the lad stayed long enough to listen to their answers.

  “So what's all this about that lassie?” Edna asked.

  “Frankie was just assisting us with information,” said Hunter.

  “What's wrong with your face?” she asked her son sharply as she noticed him standing in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. “She's nought to do with you. So let's get that tea!”

  “That meant to be funny?” The lad picked a spot and examined the results on his fingernail before rubbing the pus onto his jeans. “Pop told you Annie was having twins. Jamie told me. My twins!” He glared at his mother. “I don't know why he told you, because I said I would do it. But you told Uncle Ian, he told Jamie, and now they've got this.” He handed his mother the picture of Annie. “Tell me Pop didn't tell you, Mam.”

  “So what if he did? He had to hear it from the nosey cow at the doctor's reception. What were you thinking, Frankie? That girl! You were told to keep your distance. And we hear from a stranger. We should have heard from you.”

  “Well, Annie and me, we're an item, and we're having twins. So there!” Frankie stormed off to finish making tea.

  “Don't be so daft. Kids having kids, as Jeremy Kyle says.” Edna took off her glasses and squinted at the photo. “What's this about?” She looked first at Tim and then at Hunter, who both sat poker-faced. Hunter met the woman's gaze.

  Tim stared over her shoulder to the science buildings of Edinburgh University opposite the house. Edinburgh University buildings were so much more spread out than those of St Andrews. Why had Sophie called him?

  When Frankie returned with the mugs of tea, Hunter took the artistic impression of Mary-Ann out of his pocket and handed it to him.

  “Do you know this woman?”

  “Aye. That's Mary-Ann. See, Mam?” He handed the e-picture to his mother then turned again to Hunter. “Why is it not a photo?”

  Edna snatched the picture from her son. “Aye, that's Mary-Ann Johnson. She does for us. Now you say nothing more, Frankie. What's all this about? What's it got to do with us? I thought you were here to tell us about Billy. Why did they hurt my poor Billy?” The woman pulled a piece of paper towel out of her pocket and dabbed at dry eyes.

  “Do you know a man named Arjun Mansoor, Mrs Hope?” Hunter continued.

  “Who? Why? I think I've had enough of this. I've just lost my man. I'm off to bed.”

  “I am very sorry about Billy, Edna,” Hunter said quietly. “However, we do need to get answers to a few questions before you go upstairs for a rest.” He was polite, but firm. “Now, I am quite happy to do that here; however, if you prefer, we can do it all more formally, at the station.”

  The DI's voice became increasingly stern as he spoke. Tim caught his eye and took out his pad to note the woman's replies.

  “We will be as quick as we can, Edna,” Hunter said more softly. “But two people have died: your husband Billy, and Mary-Ann Johnson. And that young woman, Annie, is fatally injured. She is only being kept alive to give the babies in her belly a fighting chance. Now I do not know if the twins are Frankie's or not, but I do know that the young mother was hit by a car, as was your Billy. That's too much of a coincidence for me, Edna. I need to find out as much as I can about anything that links them. It will help me find Billy's killer.”

  Frankie glanced around the living room.

  Tim noticed the tears in Frankie’s eyes. “It seems that Mary-Ann may have been knocked down too,” Tim said gently.

  “The likelihood is that they were the victims of the same person,” Hunter said. “Will you help me find out who did this?” He paused and looked at the woman's bowed head. “I will find the murderer with or without your help, but I might find Billy's killer more quickly if you are willing to co-operate.”

  Real tears were streaming down Edna's face now. She gazed up at her son.

  “Is Mary-Ann dead, then?” Frankie asked Hunter.

  “I'm afraid she is, and she suffered a severe assault shortly before she died.”

  “And Annie?” Frankie's eyes wandered from one detective to the other. “Did you say Annie isn't dead yet, but she is going to die?” he asked Hunter.

  “Yes. I'm sorry, son.”

  “Definitely?”

  “The doctors can't save Annie.”

  “But there is hope for the twins,” Tim added. He was not really sure if that made things better or worse for the lad.

  “So, detectives, what can I tell you? What do you want to know?” Edna looked Hunter Wilson straight in the eye. Tim noticed her eyes were now cold and dry.

  Frankie sat down on the arm of his mother's chair. His eyes were red and he wiped his nose on his sleeve.

  “Mrs Hope, you are sure you know this woman?” Hunter handed her the picture of Mary-Ann.”

  “It's Mary-Ann. Isn't it, Mam? I said that already,” Frankie shouted defensively.

  “The detectives are talking to me, Frankie. Aye, it's Mary-Ann Johnson. I'm sure. She's cleaned for us for a few years now. Pity she doesn't clean up the mess in her own house. Filthy bitch.”

  “I said it was Mary-Ann.” Frankie folded his arms in a sulk.

  “How about this person?” Hunter handed Edna the photo of Annie that Frankie had seen.

  Edna nodded. “Annie Johnson.” She looked up. “She's Mary-Ann's daughter. See the hair? She's at the same school as Frankie. What chance does she have with parents like that Of course, Mary-Ann's man, Joe, he's a waste of space, and handy with his fists since he took to the drink. She often arrived to work here with some pretty nasty bruises. He’s been right volatile. Really, for a while now, since his accident. He hasn't worked since then, but he always has money for drink. He gets benefit money, and when that's done, he nabs cash from Mary-Ann. He's not a nice man. I'm not right fond of her. But Billy was. Knew them both from way back. So, if that is everything?”

  “Just one more thing, Edna. Do you know a man called Arjun Mansoor?” Hunter repeated his earlier, unanswered question.

  She hesitated and dropped his gaze. Hunter caught Tim's eye. The young DC smiled fleetingly.

  “Mam...”

  Edna shot Frankie a look that would have felled lesser men. “I don't think so. Not well, anyway.”

  “Mam, I've told them I work weekends at the showroom. You do know him fine! So does Uncle Ian.” Frankie was adamant.

  “Think again, Edna. Think about the Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art. Last week. Arjun Mansoor. Have you ever met privately with a man named Arjun Mansoor?”

  Edna frowned. “Why? Why does it matter if I have? He's helping out with Ian's car place while he's away.”

  “Mam, what does it matter? It's not as if we owe old Arjie Bargie anything. Just tell them what they want to know and let's get them out of here. I need to see Annie.”

  “Stupid boy.”

  “Edna, it is not a difficult question. Do you know Arjun Mansoor?”

  “He does business with my brother. While my brother is away, I keep in touch with Mr Mansoor on Ian's behalf. You know, make sure everything is in order.”

  “And is it?”

  “Of course.” She smiled.

  “In what way does he look after the showroom for Mr Thomson? Is there anything untoward that you are aware of?” Hunter a
sked.

  But it was Frankie who answered. “It's the three Cs you worry about, isn't it, Mam? Cars, coke & cannabis.”

  Hunter grinned. “The news about Annie seems to have restored your memory, Frankie.”

  “Frankie, you ridiculous boy!” Edna shouted. “Your uncle has always run a respected car business. He has nothing to do with drugs. Shut up, why don't you? These are fucking coppers you know! The boy is a fool, pay him no attention.”

  “Is that what you and Mr Mansoor were arguing about last week, Edna?” Hunter asked. “We have no reason to believe Ian has any connection with drugs. But has Mr Mansoor tried to short-change your brother's business interests? Or infiltrate Ian's luxury car business with drug dealing?”

  “Did Mansoor takeover the luxury car showroom completely from Mr Thomson?” Tim asked, almost to himself.

  “Yes,” Frankie butted in. “Well, he only manages it, since you lot fitted up Uncle Ian and he became a guest of Her Majesty. Arjun doesn't own it, nor nothing.”

  Tim watched the boy as Frankie kept worrying the spot he had picked. He kept dabbing the evidence with his finger and sucking the blood. It was not an endearing habit.

  Hunter looked at Edna. “Is that right, Edna? Is that what happened?”

  “Frankie's right. Arjun doesn't own it, but he manages it for Ian. And I suppose he has made some changes.”

  “So has Mansoor introduced drugs to the mix?” Hunter went on. “Does he bring the gear in imported cars? Is that why you told us you didn't know him?”

  “Detective Inspector Wilson, I have just lost my beloved husband in a wicked crime, witnessed by hundreds of people, including you! Nobody can tell me who killed him or why. I am grieving. I hardly know what day of the week it is, let alone who I met for coffee on Friday.”

  “I didn't say it was coffee. And I didn't say it was Friday,” Hunter said, with an edge to his voice. “What's going on, Edna?”

  Edna pulled a hanky out of her sleeve and dabbed her eyes again. She sniffed.

  “On top of all that my idiot son here believes that scrubber's daughter when she says her bastard bairns are his. Oh, goodness, I'm coming over all queasy. So, if you've no more questions, I really do have to go upstairs and rest.”

  Tim stood up. He made the room look crowded just by doing so.

  “Just a couple more questions, please, Mrs Hope,” he said gently. “What does Arjun Mansoor usually drive now?”

  “He likes a Land Rover, or even better a Range Rover.”

  “Colour?”

  “Metallic silver. Last I saw, anyway. He changes cars like others change their socks. When he sells it he just grabs another car off the showroom floor to get him home.”

  “And Frankie, do you know what Joe Johnson drives?”

  Frankie snorted. “Joe lost his licence years ago with the drink. Most times he can't even walk straight, let alone drive.”

  “Not everybody who drives has a licence,” Tim said solemnly. “Do you drive, Frankie?”

  “Naw. Not yet, but I'm learning.”

  “He's not a natural. Failed twice, haven't you, son?”

  “Aye. Thanks for that, Mam.”

  “Frankie, does your cousin Jamie make a lot from dealing cocaine?” Hunter asked as he turned on the doorstep.

  “Jamie? Don't be daft, man. He's no time for that. Says it's a mug's game. And he's right on that. He'll maybe take a bit of wacky baccy if it's going, but he doesn't even deal in that, never mind coke. In fact, you’re lucky if he pays for his share of a spliff! Tight bastard. Anyway I'm off to see Annie. Which hospital is she in?”

  “You'll find her in the Royal Infirmary out at Little France,” Tim replied.

  “Mam. Don't know when I'll be back.”

  Frankie left the house at the same time as Tim and Hunter and headed to the hospital. This time, his cousin, Jamie, would not know he was around.

  Jamie was recovering from the effects of the anaesthetic after his operation. He was trying to woo the nurses with a tuneless rendition of Flower of Scotland.

  This time, for Frankie, it was all about Annie. He stared at Annie's pretty face, the freckles, the red hair. He touched her, one hand on her belly feeling the life inside, the other caressing her mane of bright red hair. Frankie wept so hard he felt his lungs would burst.

  “Who would want to hurt you, my bonnie Annie?”

  ***

  Annie wished she could squeeze his hand and tell him whose face she had seen. She could not, but she could taste his tears as he kissed her cheek.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Sophie usually got home before Tim, but today she was much later. Tim sat on the sofa, with Lucy curled up on his knee, he was drinking a beer and gazing at the last brown leaves gripping onto the trees opposite the flat. Unfocussed. Waiting. Thoughts of the meeting with Frankie and Edna Hope were vying with imaginings about why Sophie had called about his dad.

  She never phoned him when they were both at work. The odd text, maybe: Get milk x, Need bread x, Meet @ Pub 6.30 x. But this phone call was strange.

  Hearing Sophie’s key in the lock, he jumped up and brushed Lucy off his lap. He hugged Sophie, lifting her off her feet to have her face level to his. He kissed her. But her usual happy grin wasn’t there. She was frowning. He placed her back on her feet, puzzled. Why had she rejected him?

  “What was that all about this afternoon? You never call me from work. I've been really worried. I could hardly concentrate at the interview I had to go to with the boss.” Tim looked directly into Sophie's eyes. “Is something up? I tried to call Dad but it went straight to voicemail.”

  They went through to the living room. He was racking his brains to work out what had happened, or been omitted, or what was so wrong. Why was Sophie so uncharacteristically quiet?

  “Beer? Glass of white?”

  “Just a sparkling water, pet.”

  As he handed her the glass of chilled water with a slice of lime in it, she raised her solemn eyes to his.

  “We have to talk, Tim. I am not even meant to know about this, and I shouldn't say anything, but he's your dad.”

  Tim took a swig of his beer and sighed. “I have no idea what you are talking about, Soph. Want to start at the beginning?”

  She kicked off her shoes and folded her feet underneath her on the sofa. She looked at her drink and twisted the glass in her fingers. Tim sat at the other end of the sofa and stared at her quietly. Lucy jumped back onto his lap and purred loudly, as if to reassure Tim that she was on his side, even if the other female was causing him angst.

  “What's wrong, Soph?” he whispered. He patted Lucy absent-mindedly as Sophie looked at him and sighed.

  “It's your dad, Tim. I am not sure what's up, but something is very wrong.”

  “You are worrying me. I know Dad's weaknesses and faults, or I think I do. Still, he has always been there for me and Ailsa. After Mum died, Dad ended up as mother and father, being strong for us. I know some people think of him as a pompous arse or a bit of a joke, but he kept us at private schools; he came to every parents' night and concert. He revised French verbs with me and struggled through the periodic table with Ailsa.” Tim stared at Sophie's solemn face. “He was also trustee to the money Mum left for us.”

  As an heiress to the Wills Tobacco dynasty, Tim's mother had left her children extremely well provided for. They would each inherit capital of millions of pounds from their funds when they turned thirty. For Tim that was January – just two months away.

  “I want to take Dad skiing in Aspen next season, just to say thank you. I love my father dearly, even though he, and his choice of girlfriends, often exasperates me. I know he has an eye for the ladies. He’s even tried to come on to many of my girlfriends in the past. That was awful when that happened. I'm surprised he hasn't done it with you!”

  Tim knew his father liked fast women and expensive cars. Or was it the other way around?

  “I think I know all the faults Dad can possibly be acc
used of,” Tim went on. “He can be a snob. After all, Dad tried to persuade Ailsa to find a lucrative branch of medicine to specialise in, not to waste her first-class medical degree on Accident and Emergency patients. She was very angry with him. Both of us try to understand now how Dad must have suffered terribly after Mum's death, but still, Sophie, he protected us from the worst of his sadness. Dad did his best. So what on earth do you think has gone wrong now that I don't know about?”

  Lucy purred more loudly. He automatically started patting the cat again. He believed she could feel his stress.

  “Has Dad said something inappropriate to you? Or made a pass?”

  “Frequently. But not recently. I think I got that idea firmly out of his head the last time. I cracked his nuts and broke his nose! It has nothing to do with that.”

  “You did that!” Tim laughed in spite of himself. “He told me it was a new girl from the escort agency.”

  “Well, he would, wouldn't he?” she smiled.

  “You never told me. I thought he had always behaved properly with you.”

  “What was the point of telling you, pet? I sorted it. Anyway…” She shook her head and the mood in the room changed back to sombre. “Your dad may have done something much more serious, and this time I cannot sort it. I'm not even meant to know about it, but I overheard.” She sighed. “Mr McArthur and Miss Colquhoun were talking in the corridor outside my office. I think it's serious.”

  “What are we talking about, Sophie? What on earth is so serious?”

  She looked at him with big, sad eyes. “I am so sorry, Tim. I would fix it if I could.”

  “What is going on? You are scaring me. Tell me what my old man is meant to have done?”

  “The firm works for Home and Office Insurance.”

  “I know. Isn't it Brian McArthur who represents them?”

  “Uh-huh. Well, as a matter of policy, the company has started checking all claims over £5,000.”

  “Okay? That's sensible, I suppose.”

  “It’s because of all the false and exaggerated claims going about, you know?”

  “I can understand it. Quite right too. But what’s it got to do with Dad?”