Hunter's Chase

by Val Penny

  Jane did not take her eyes off the MSP. “Sir Peter, my DI just told me that there was a bag of high-grade cocaine wrapped in the bundle of cash. We have the results of tests: your fingerprints are on the bag, but Jamie Thomson's are not.”

  “Renwick! This is more than enough! Thomson was wearing silk gloves to avoid finger prints. I do not know what DI Hunter Wilson said to you, but I will not have a gentleman of Sir Peter's calibre spoken to in this way. He is one of our former Chief Constables, you know. An MSP and person of note.”

  Lesser mortals would have wilted under Mackay's blustering onslaught, but Jane did not flinch. She sighed.

  “Sir,” she said to Mackay. “None of us here believes that anybody is above the law, do we? Not even Chief Constables or MSPs. I mean no disrespect by my questions, Sir Peter. Your fingerprints are on our records, historically for elimination, but they have disclosed that you have touched the bag of cocaine. We have taken Thomson's prints. His are not, and he has vehemently denied knowing about the drugs.”

  “Naturally,” said Mackay.

  “He has touched the roll of cash, but not the cocaine it surrounded,” Jane continued, ignoring Mackay's exasperation.

  Sir Peter sighed. His expression was that of a defeated man.

  Jane went on. “I really need you to explain how that could have happened. It may be that this interview might best be continued at the station, under caution.”

  Mackay looked confused. He had completely lost control.

  Jane watched as, without comment, Sir Peter Myerscough pulled his smartphone out of his pocket and called Andrew Barley on his personal number.

  Both Jane and Mackay recognised the name of the esteemed criminal lawyer.

  Tim was shocked, but not surprised, to see Renwick lead his father into Mackay's office, instead of an interview room, for questioning. This was a courtesy afforded to Sir Peter due to his former rank. Tim was angry and did not feel his father deserved it. He was glad it was not his call. Mackay, too had retired from this procedure due to his longstanding friendship with Sir Peter. From now on, Hunter and Jane would conduct the interview.

  As father and son caught sight of each other, they acknowledged the other with a nod. Bear touched Tim's arm and moved him back into the incident room, away from his father and the whispering corridors.

  Tim sat down. He accepted the coffee Bear offered him. He brooded about all the information he had absorbed during the last twenty-four hours. His father did not know he was to be a grandfather. Tim had not told him about his joy.

  “Come on, Timmy,” Bear said. “Chin up, man. Let's follow the leads we've got on car number plates. We'll get what justice we can for the victims and those wee babies.”

  Tim looked out of the window. The grey sky was turning black. Days were getting shorter as they hurtled towards the end of the year. Talk was turning to Christmas decorations in the office. Tim had never felt less festive. He thumped the desk, nodded, put on a fractured smile and followed Bear to the computer.

  “Yes, let's crack it, Bear. Everybody deserves justice, whether they like it or not.”

  It was not long before Bear suggested to Tim that they go to The Golf for a few beers before they went home. They were both glad to leave the hothouse of the incident room.

  Hunter had asked Bear to make sure that Tim had left the station before he and Jane completed their interview with his father. Sir Peter was formally charged with possession of the Class A drug and with fraud on his insurance company. He was released on bail later that evening.

  Sir Peter left the station by a side door and Jane drove him home in an unmarked car. It was a silent journey.

  Hunter drove home and then wandered up to The Persevere.

  “Pie and a pint, please, Tracey. Tom? My shout!”

  “Clouseau! About bloody time! What you boys having?” Tom called to the rest of the team. “The inspector is paying – the moths are leaving his wallet!”

  The darts team cheered. They all moved over to the bar and claimed their pints. Then, one after the other, they followed Hunter to the oche for a practice match.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Hunter sighed. It was going to be another long day, but it was about to feel longer than it needed. He had to speak to Joe before he was released. Hunter guessed that now Joe had sobered up, showered and had a couple of good meals inside him, he might talk more sense. Hunter called the incident room to get John Hamilton to join him.

  “Sorry, Boss,” said Bear. “Only Tim and I here right now. Others are all out and about. We're trying to finish going through the list of registration numbers, but can either of us help?”

  “Yes, Bear, can you come to Interview Room One? Young Myerscough can finish off the car registrations.”

  “Sure, Boss,” Bear put the phone down and turned to Tim. “I'm off to interview Joe Johnson with the boss. You get to finish off the car chase, Timmy boy.”

  “Lucky old you. I’m not sure which of us has the worse deal.”

  “You might be right. You can leave that until I get back if you like?”

  “I'll keep going. But I think I'll stop off and get Soph some flowers on the way home. What do you think?”

  “Wise move, bro! I'll leave you to the cars and see you later.” Bear moved swiftly out of the incident room and met the DI going downstairs.

  “Sir.” Bear acknowledged him with a nod as the two of them made their way to the interview room.

  “Hello, Mr Johnson. You are a little less odorous than when we last met. Have we taken care of you? Fed you?” Hunter said.

  “I suppose,” Joe replied. “But some bugger’s took me clothes and stuck me under a cold shower for so long ma willie turned blue, didn't it? No need for all that, was there? A wee wipe under me arms would have been enough. And then when I was dry, my clothes had been away taken for some kind of inspection, they said. So now I've got this poxy pop-on suit. I must look like a dung beetle in this.”

  “Maybe. The good thing is you smell less like a dung beetle now,” Hunter retorted.

  Bear smiled.

  “Mr Johnson, this is DC Winston Zewedu.”

  “Big, aren't you?” Joe looked at Bear.

  “This interview will be recorded. Do you want a lawyer to represent you?” Hunter had his formal voice on.

  “Do I need one?” Joe asked.

  “I can't answer that, Mr Johnson.”

  “Can't see why I would.” Joe shook his head.

  “I need you to tell me about the last time you saw this woman.” Hunter showed Joe the artist's drawing.

  “Mary-Ann. It's my wife, Mary-Ann,” Joe whispered. He ran his fingers over the picture tenderly. “Aye. It was a while ago, like. Because this time she never came back, really. Any chance of a cup of tea? Builders’ tea, milk and two?”

  Hunter switched off the recorder and nodded to Bear. Bear left the room and came back with two coffees and a tea from the machine. After he had handed these out, the interview began again.

  “Was this woman was your wife?” Hunter asked.

  “Aye, I said. Mary-Ann, my darling wee wife. I love her dearly. I know I haven't been easy to live with since the accident, but I didn't deserve what she said to me. She broke my heart. Right in two, she did. Wicked it was.”

  “Mary-Ann's body had injuries, bruising and signs of violence. Do you know how that might have happened?”

  “No. Clumsy, she was. Probably that.”

  Joe picked up his cup in his left hand and took a drink of his tea.

  “This wasn't the result of clumsiness. Are you right-handed or left-handed, Joe?”

  “My right hand isn't up to much since the accident.” He lifted the wizened limb to prove his point. “Ten years ago, may be a bit more, perhaps, it was the August.” Joe rubbed his right hand absent-mindedly. “I worked on the Forth Bridge, painting and that. But I took a fall. Been on the sick since then because my right side isn't up to much. I can't drive now either. Bloody useless. That
's how I feel, useless.”

  “But you manage to get down to the pub often enough.”

  “See my mates there. Can't sit in watching the box all day, can I? How much daytime television can one man take?”

  “I understand,” Hunter went on. “But many of Mary-Ann's injuries were on her right side. It makes me think the person who inflicted those injuries was left-handed.” Hunter looked down then back into Joe's eyes. “Did you knock her about, a bit, Joe? Maybe when you'd no money to go out? Or maybe when you'd had too much of the demon drink?”

  “You can't prove that, and I'm not saying it. I loved Mary-Ann. But you should have heard what she said to me.”

  “When was that, Joe? When was the last time you saw Mary-Ann? What did she say that day to make you so angry?”

  “What? You wouldn't believe it. It was terrible what she told me.” Joe thumped the table. “Slut!”

  “Sorry?” Hunter frowned. “That's a strange way to talk about the woman you love.”

  “Slut, she was a fucking slut. Do you know what she told me? She told me Annie weren't mine. My little girl. My angel, who I brought up and loved from a baby, Mary-Ann tells me isn't mine.”

  “That must have been hard to hear, Joe. So did she tell you who Annie's father was?”

  “Oh aye! She did that! Was already up the duff from her fling with Billy Hope when she got with me. But he dropped her when Ian Thomson found out Billy was cheating on his sister, big Edna, didn't he? Slut. Fucking slut. Good Catholic girl couldn't get rid of the baby. Couldn't drop a sprog out of wedlock, so she needed a patsy. And guess who she picked?”

  “But she stood by you after your accident. Didn't she?” Bear asked.

  “Aye son, but she wouldn't divorce, would she? Couldn't divorce, could she? Oh she'll fuck like a whore, but och, let's face it lad, she just chose which rules she obeyed. But I did love her when we wed. I love them both. With all my heart, and then found out it was all smoke and mirrors.” Joe shook his head. “Any chance of another cup of tea and maybe a biscuit?”

  Hunter suspended the interview again. Bear went out and came back with more drinks and a Kit-Kat for Joe. Joe smiled and chomped into the biscuit as Hunter recommenced the interview officially.

  “So you thumped her?” Hunter asked without emotion.

  “What? Oh, Mary-Ann. Well, maybe a wee slap. But just time to time, not often.”

  “You expect me to believe that your wife tells you your daughter isn't yours, you feel your marriage is a sham, and you just gave her ‘a wee slap’?”

  “Oh, that day. I was angry. Aye, that day. Fucking raging I was. I got her good in the arm and the scarf round the neck. Gagging she was but she wriggled. Got me good in the nuts and ran off. Never saw her again.” Joe sighed.

  “Well, Joe, I find that just a little hard to believe, because Mary-Ann was found dead in a shallow grave on the Merchant's Golf Course. You thumped her to within an inch of her life and drove the car that dumped her there, where she died. Didn't you?”

  “I did not!” Joe shouted and stood up.

  “Sit down!” Hunter yelled. “You killed your wife, didn't you, Joe?”

  “No! I was angry and I hit her. But she ran away. When I could walk, doubled over with the pain, I was. I didn't know where she'd gone. So I went out on the razz. She never even woke when I got in, and she wasn't there when I woke up. In fact, I never saw her again. Not at all. I came to tell one of you she had disappeared, big blond guy, about your size.” He nodded at Bear. “I came here. Asked if you would look for her. Would I do that if I'd topped her?”

  “You were the last person to see Mary-Ann alive. Her body had evidence of domestic violence and a substantial beating immediately prior to death. Her body also sustained injuries, probably from a car accident, just before she died. Did you do that with the car you dumped her from?”

  “I told you, I can't drive!” Joe waved his right arm. “Lost me licence with the drink years back. If she was dumped on a fecking golf course, it wasn't me!”

  “It was after she was left on the golf course, she never woke up. She died of exposure, poor soul. She never stood a chance. You really went to work on her, didn't you, Joe?” Hunter said.

  “No. No, I bloody didn't!”

  “If you didn't dump her body, who did? Who else had any reason to kill your wife? You need to face up to this, Joe. You killed Mary-Ann.”

  The silence that followed the interview was broken by Bear. Both other men looked at him in surprise.

  “Mr Johnson, are you sure your wife was home when you got in from the pub that night?”

  “What?” Joe asked.

  “You said she ran away from you.”

  “Aye.”

  “You went to the pub?”

  “Aye.”

  “How much did you have to drink, Mr Johnson?”

  “Oh, lad,” Joe shook his head. “I couldn’t say. I really could not say.”

  “You said she did not wake when you came in and was gone before you woke up?”

  “Aye.”

  “Are you sure she was ever there when you got home?”

  “Bear, what are you suggesting?” Hunter said.

  Joe looked from Bear to Hunter. “Well, she didn't come and open the door for me. She always comes to open the door for me. I never thought.”

  Hunter shook his head. “Not good enough, Joe. Bear, get him charged. Murder.”

  Joe was back in the cells when Tim, Bear and Hunter were getting ready to leave the station.

  “You don't really think he killed her, do you, Boss? After all, he couldn't have done it alone. Joe doesn't drive.”

  “I know, but something is not right, that is about the only thing I am sure of. I wonder who else knew about Mary-Ann's past indiscretion.”

  Hunter left the younger men to think as he went home.

  Hunter walked into The Persevere a little later than he had planned. It was warm and bright inside: a stark contrast to the atmosphere outside. The smell of beer made Hunter feel welcome.

  “Clouseau!” shouted Tom. “It’s a miracle. You’re almost not late. Fantastic! Pint?”

  “Sounds good.” Hunter smiled. He slurped from his pint before he joined the team. When he took his place at the ocky, he threw a perfect 180.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Frankie liked to go and visit Annie. Sort of. At least then they could be together. A family. The two of them with the babies. Sort of.

  He held her hand and stroked her cheek and talked to her as if she heard him, although nobody could tell him if she did.

  “Mam has given me the wee room for the girls. You like butterflies, Annie, so I wanted butterflies. I'm painting the girls bedroom: pink and yellow, and wallpaper with butterflies. But it does mean I'm sharing a room with Jamie while he's with us. And that's no great, I'm telling you. His feet pong!”

  Frankie knew this would have made Annie smile if she could have.

  “Mam is not keen on me keeping the babies. But I told her that our babies will be with me, come what may. I told her, Annie. You would have been proud of me. I told her that even if you were poorly, the girls have their father. That's me. And I will care for them at home or I will move out. Her choice.” He paused and wiped a tear from her face. “Mam can be scary, you know, but I stood my ground. That's when she moved Jamie out of the wee room and gave it to me for the twins. A real victory. If you call listening to Jamie snoring every night, a victory.”

  ***

  She did like butterflies. And yellow was her favourite colour. It was a bright cheerful colour.

  She was proud of him. She would have smiled if she could. He was only half-right that he knew about his mam. Frankie was going to be a great dad. She was sad she would never see him with her babies. Their babies.

  The nurse came in just as Frankie had begun talking about names.

  “You may need to decide on names quite soon,” the nurse said. “Have you noticed how the babies are moving less in Anni
e's belly?”

  “No. Not really. I don't like to think about it.”

  “I understand. But you need to know that, although Annie has done a great job of protecting the twins and giving them time to grow and develop enough to survive, her time is running out. Normally we would want to wait another month, but the doctors are talking about having to deliver the babies in the next day or two and caring for them in incubators until they are strong enough to go home.”

  “In the next day or two? Then what happens to Annie?”

  “You should speak to the consultant, Mr Hope. But I think the life support system is likely to be switched off, shortly after the girls are delivered.”

  “Then Annie would die? Forever?”

  The nurse nodded, finished tending to Annie and left the room quietly.

  Annie lay motionless staring at the ceiling, listening to Frankie's sobs and feeling his tears fall.

  Tim got home earlier than usual, but Sophie was already there. She had not put any lights on and was sitting curled up on the sofa in the fading light of the afternoon.

  “Hello, beautiful girl. How are you? You look sleepy,” he said, picking up Lucy and patting her gently.

  “I am.” Sophie smiled as Tim put on the light in the living room.

  “Why sit in the dark, pet?”

  “It wasn't dark when I sat down, and I was enjoying watching the wind blowing through the branches of the trees. It was as if I was invisible.”

  “Sophie! You okay?”

  “Of course. I'm just being silly.”

  “One thing you are not is silly. My father has behaved like a congenital idiot, but you, Sophie, my dear, are one smart lady.”

  “Why thank you, kind sir,” she said. “You are right about your dad. We got instructions from Home and Business Insurance today. They have reported his fraud to the police. This is going to be huge when it breaks.”

  “I know. Jane Renwick was one of the officers who went to interview him.” Tim put Lucy down onto the carpet. “Please let's not talk about Dad tonight.” He handed Sophie the extravagant bouquet he had bought on his way home.