by Ed James
‘So you did well out of it?’
Chantal shrugged. ‘I’ve got my Sergeant stripes now.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘I don’t know.’ Another shrug, her lips and forehead twisted. ‘Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing. I could go back to the MIT, you could keep doing this.’
‘But this is important to you, right?’
‘Of course it is.’ She took a firmer grip of her glass. ‘What we do in this unit is important to me. You’re important to me . . . I just don’t know what to do.’
‘Well, we need another solution, then.’ Hunter took a sip. Peppery and sweeter than he expected. ‘Not bad.’
‘You drinking wine is a weird sight.’
‘Had some with dinner.’ He took another sip and grinned at her. ‘When I was fifteen, I used to down a couple of bottles to get pissed before we went out.’
‘Classy.’
‘I’m a proud Porty boy.’
‘Aye, and you haven’t changed.’ A big hand clapped him on the back. ‘You twat.’
Finlay, gurning at them, his eyebrows dancing.
Terrific.
Hunter swivelled round to face him. How much had he heard? ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Passing through. Thought I might find you here.’
‘Fin, I told you. There’s nothing for you to do in this case.’
‘Get over yourself, Hunter. I’m here because I took a lady out for dinner.’
Chantal frowned at him. ‘Thought you were married?’
‘Aye, was.’ Finlay sat between them, twisting his car keys in his fingers. ‘Mary chucked me out few years back. Took me to the cleaners, too. Just as well we didn’t have kids, I tell you.’
‘Can I get you a drink, Fin?’ Chantal took a sip of her wine. ‘Look like you need it?’
‘I’m driving.’
‘Oh, of course, sorry.’
‘Just swung by to see how you love birds were doing?’
‘We’re fine.’ Hunter narrowed his eyes. ‘And we’re not—’
‘I get it.’ Finlay gripped Hunter’s shoulder right where it bloody hurt. ‘Your secret’s safe with me.’
‘Fin, we’re not—’
Finlay tapped his nose. ‘Aye, aye.’
Chantal cleared her throat. ‘So, this date?’
‘Aye, not so good.’ Finlay ran a hand over his chin. ‘Maybe she thought the same about me, who knows?’ He got to his feet. ‘Look, if you need any help, I’m more than willing to step in, okay?’
‘It’s noted.’ Hunter raised his glass. ‘Safe drive back to Olhão.’
‘Aye, see you Chantal.’ Finlay waddled off, his straight-backed gait even worse than before.
‘What a guy.’
‘Sounds like he’s bored, Craig.’
‘Looks like it, too. But don’t even think about it. We can’t use him.’
Day 3
Saturday, 14th May, 2016
FORTY-EIGHT
Hunter
‘Gnnnnaawwww.’
Sunlight burst through Hunter’s eyelids as he looked around for the source of the noise.
Head thumping. Mouth dry. Bursting for a piss.
Shite, how many did we have in the hotel bar last night?
‘Gnnnnaawwww.’
Christ, what was that sound? Like a dying animal.
Hunter blinked hard, braved the bright light and opened his eyes fully. Then he turned over.
Chantal faced him, her hair plastered across her face, naked as the day she was born. The duvet kicked off her side of the bed. She hissed in air then snored it out. ‘Gnnnnaawwww.’
Hunter wiggled the mattress and she snorted a couple of times before settling back into her comatose sleep.
‘Gnnnnaawwww.’
Bloody hell. This isn’t getting us anywhere.
He got out of bed to retrieve the mobile plugged in by the kettle. Least I had the presence of mind to charge that.
He grabbed it and padded through to the bathroom. As he pissed, he tried checking his messages. Not a bad job, either, all in the pan.
10.04.
How did it get to that time?
Hunter sat on the lid. Didn’t flush so as not to wake Chantal.
‘Gnnnnaawwww.’
Nothing would wake Chantal.
He flicked through the texts. Four from Finlay after him turning up in the bar. Desperate, much?
One from Murray, including a photo. Bubble had let Muffin sleep next to her on her giant bed. It was far too big for a skinny little cat anyway. That said, the poor boy lay on the edge.
CATS BOTH FINE. SUCH A CUTE COUPLE. LIKE YOU AND CHANTAL.
He tapped out a reply.
THANKS FOR DOING THAT. THEY LOOK HAPPY.
The one person he’d trusted with the news. The one person he knew who wasn’t on the bloody job. His brother.
‘Gnnnnaawwww.’
A text flashed up. Elvis. What now?
LYING BASTARD! KNOW YOUR SHAGGING HER.
Shite, balls, bastard.
Hunter replied.
STOP THINKING ABOUT ME NAKED. BESIDES, WE’RE NOT TOGETHER.
He sent it and sat back against the cistern, rattling the porcelain.
‘Gnnnnaawwww.’
Here they were, able to act like a real couple, and it felt right. And now Elvis knew . . . Back to bloody uniform. Back to—
Bzzz.
Another text from Elvis.
QUIT LYING, DUDE. FIN TOLD ME.
Terrific.
Back to a squad car, chasing scumbags, responding to calls. Back to Steve and Dave. Fat Keith and his constant moans about his motor. Lauren. Buchan and his stupid chess weirdness.
‘Gnnnn— Craig?’
Do I tell her?
Of course I tell her. This is our problem. Not mine, not hers. Ours.
Hunter locked his phone and walked back through, his feet slapping off the cold tiles.
Chantal was squinting at him, her hair sticking up at all angles. Would have been a funny look if it hadn’t left her nipples exposed. At that, his laugh turned into a guttural groan.
‘What time is it?’
Hunter knelt on the edge of the bed. ‘It’s gone ten.’
She slumped back in the bed and pressed her palms into her eye sockets. ‘We’ve slept in. Great.’ She yawned. ‘Think it was that early flight yesterday?’
‘I rather suspect the last glass of wine was spoilt.’ Hunter held up his phone, showing the picture of the cats. ‘See how well they’re getting on?’
She smirked at it. ‘They look so cute. Poor Muffin.’
‘He’s about twice the size of Bubble.’
‘Like you and me.’ Chantal snuggled into him and he eased himself back down on the worst mattress in the world as she rested her head on his chest. ‘How much did we drink last night?’
He started kissing her head. ‘Not much, in the end.’
‘Feels like a lot.’ She brushed her hair out of her face and yawned again. ‘Do you think Tulloch’s run off?’
‘Could’ve done.’ The curtains flapped in the breeze, giving a glimpse of the bright day outside. ‘But who knows? I’m glad that all this time working on sex crimes hasn’t made me think like one of those sickos.’ He ran a hand through her hair, stopping when he got to a knot. ‘Chantal, I need to tell you—’
‘So what’s the plan, Craig?’ She swatted his hand away. ‘We’ve got to meet your fan club at two. Right?’
‘Quaresma isn’t . . .’ Hunter put his phone away and lay back on his pillow, pulling her in close. ‘Never mind, listen—’
‘We should try to pick up Tulloch’s trail.’ She batted his chest. ‘Can’t believe you let me sleep in.’
‘Can’t believe you got leathered.’ Hunter kissed her forehead. She smelled of broken biscuits. ‘See this stuff about keeping us a secret?’
‘Shh.’ She put a finger to his lip. ‘I’m hungry. Time for food. And coffee. Then we’ll talk.’
<
br /> ‘Would you just listen to me, please? This is serious.’ Hunter unlocked his mobile and showed her the text. ‘Finlay overheard us. He’s told Elvis.’
FORTY-NINE
Chantal
Chantal slammed the door behind her and checked it was locked. And checked again.
Can’t believe we’ve been so careless. All that time, all that sneaking around, only to let Finlay the superbrain Sinclair see us as a couple. One thoughtless moment and one of them was going to be booted off the team.
Back to the MIT. Working with Cullen, working for Methven. Bain, Stuart Murray, Simon Buxton.
God help me.
Hunter’s shoulders were slumping as he walked ahead of her.
The MIT would be better than what was in store for him. They’d chucked him out before, weren’t likely to take him back.
So she had no choice, really.
She caught up with him and burrowed her hand in his big paw, letting him lead her away. ‘Craig, look, I’ll take the heat, okay? I’ll go back to the MIT. You can stay.’
‘I appreciate it, I do, but I don’t think we’ll get a say in it.’ Hunter couldn’t look at her as they climbed down the stairs. ‘How’s Sharon going to feel when she finds out from bloody Elvis? And how likely is it that he hasn’t already blabbed?’
Chantal stared at the marble, sparks of light bouncing off and taking her thoughts in all kinds of criss-crossing ways. She blinked, tried to focus.
He was right. I should phone her. Now. Tell her. Come out and . . . What if he hadn’t told her yet? What if he wasn’t going to?
She let go of his hand and sped up towards the staircase to the restaurant area, a long balcony above the bar. ‘My head’s not in the game yet. I need to think this through.’
Too many variables. Too many things in play. Hard to figure out who knew what and who’d do what damage, armed with that information.
Hunter caught her by the bottom of the stairs, grabbing her hand. ‘Can we go somewhere else? Please?’
Chantal spun round and locked her arms across her chest, stretching her vest top and making his eyes drop to her chest. ‘What? I’m starving and I need coff—’
Hunter glanced up the staircase. Seemed oddly reluctant to speak. ‘The bacon?’
She rolled her eyes and stared up at the sky. Well played, girl . . . ‘Sorry.’
‘It’s alright, Chantal. I don’t want to ruin—’
She bounced down the step and kissed him on the lips. ‘Don’t be daft. I just wasn’t thinking. Or thinking too much of other stuff. Come on, we’ll go somewhere else.’ She grabbed his hand and led him away. ‘But I still think you need to sort this out.’
Hunter let go of her hand. ‘Just like that? You think I can just sort that pesky PTSD shite out by telling someone about it? Look how well that worked when I told you.’ He shook his head at her, real anger in his eyes. ‘You’re pissed off because you can’t have your bloody coffee. If I have another flashback . . .’
Chantal shut her eyes. He’s right, you selfish cow. This is when he’s at his lowest and you’re as blasé as a teenager.
‘Craig, I’m sorry.’ She pressed her thumb against his palm, caressing it. ‘You’ll manage. Okay? I’ll help you.’ She stopped on the slabs in the full morning glare. ‘And I’m being a total cow. I’m sorry. This slip-up with Elvis is doing my head in.’
He pulled her tight.
She pushed her head into his chest and he tightened the hug. She looked up at him. ‘Do you think I should call—’
‘Excuse me?’ A woman stepped down the staircase, frowning at them. Blonde hair, tied back tight. One of the girls Tulloch and Matty were forcing rohypnol on in that club. Nora, was it? She folded her arms, shivering in the sunshine. ‘You’re the lady from last night, aren’t you?’
‘Hi, Nora. Are you okay?’
‘Breakfast has stopped serving, by the way.’ She thumbed behind her. ‘One of the bars up there serves a fry-up all day. That’s where I’m heading.’
‘You know I’m a cop, right?’
Nora looked away. ‘I remember.’
Chantal let go of Hunter’s hand and held it out. ‘I’m Chantal and this is Craig.’ She smiled. ‘I’m sorry about the circumstances we had to meet in yesterday, but it’s good to see you’re okay now. Being assaulted is never easy, so I’m glad we were there to help.’
‘Thanks, I suppose.’ Nora’s eyes were flitting all over the place, seeking any exit route from Chantal’s benign smile. ‘Did you catch him them?’
‘He got away.’
‘Jesus.’
‘We’re doing all we can to catch him.’ Chantal took a step towards the girl and rubbed her arm. ‘Did you go to hospital?’
Nora nodded. ‘We got out at three.’ Again her eyes avoided Chantal’s. ‘I didn’t even know why the hell I was there. The cops are useless. Out here, I mean.’ She nibbled at a painted nail, a crack forming in the purple sheen. ‘You guys work in Scotland, right?’
‘Edinburgh.’ Chantal coughed. ‘Well, Police Scotland, so yes. We’re part of the Sexual Offences Unit.’
‘Are you after one of those guys?’
‘Afraid I can’t really tell you that.’
‘Well, I hope you can’t really cut his balls off, either.’
Chantal laughed and rubbed her arm again. ‘Did the doctors get anything they can use?’
‘Wouldn’t tell us.’
‘Have you got the name of any local police officers?’
‘Elena something or other.’ Nora grabbed Chantal’s hand. ‘It’s the big one, isn’t it? Sean?’
‘I really can’t say.’
Nora tilted her head to the side. ‘Tell me. Please.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘You’re sorry?’ Nora screwed up her face and scowled at Hunter, then back at Chantal. ‘I . . .’ She nibbled at her bottom lip. ‘Look, are you after him or not?’
Hunter stepped forward and craned his neck low. ‘We’re here to bring him back to Scotland.’
‘What’s he done?’
‘He’s a serial abuser of women. His latest victim is in Edinburgh Royal Infirmary right now.’
‘Ah, shit.’ More nibbling as her face pinched tight. ‘Look, what he tried to do to us last night, in the bar, that wasn’t the full story like . . .’
‘What?’
‘Come with me.’
* * *
Nora put her keycard in the lock and it clicked open. She twisted the handle and stopped. ‘Shit, I don’t . . .’
‘Come on, Nora, it’s fine.’ Chantal leaned against the doorframe. ‘We’re trained in this sort of thing. Okay?’
Nora sighed. ‘In for a penny . . .’ She opened the door and led inside.
The apartment was bigger than theirs and faced due south, which meant full sun exposure at this time of day. Fortunately, one of the curtains was drawn across the patio door, bathing half of the room in darkness. But even as their eyes adjusted, there was no sign of life.
Nora sat on the bed and prodded a mound of duvet. ‘Kirsten?’
Nothing.
‘She’s not been up since . . .’ Nora nibbled at her lip. She shook her head and stabbed a finger into the mound. ‘Come on, you. Get up!’
Still nothing.
She shook the duvet and pulled it back. Again, nothing, just more sheets and pillows. ‘Shit.’
Chantal looked over at Hunter, who appeared to be as worried as she felt. ‘Where is she?’
‘I don’t . . .’ Nora rubbed her face. ‘I don’t know.’
‘No idea?’
Nora shrugged. ‘I can’t think. Sorry.’
‘It’s natural if you’ve had your drink spiked.’ Chantal gave her some space, let her settle down. ‘Take us through this from the start. Who is Kirsten?’
‘She’s me cousin. Me mam was the baby of their family, there’s twelve years difference between her and Kirsten’s mam.’ Nora sniffed, couldn’t keep her focus away from her wrin
ging hands for longer than a second. ‘We’re here on another cousin’s hen weekend. Flew over on Thursday night, typical first night blues. Got hammered on the flight over, then we hit the Strip . . . Last I saw of Kirsten was her chatting to that big lad in the bar.’
Hunter crouched down and handed her a photo. ‘Was it him?’
‘Sean . . .’ She reached for the picture, tentative at first, then her face twisted into a snarl and she swatted the photo out of Hunter’s hand. ‘That’s him . . .’
Hunter let the picture lie where it fell, his attention on Nora alone. ‘And he abused her?’
A slight nod. ‘I think so.’
‘I’m sorry to have to ask you this, Nora, but . . .’ Chantal frowned at her. ‘He brutalised your cousin, and yet you let him buy you a drink?’
Nora went over to the sink and poured herself a glass of water. She downed it, liquid sluicing down her hand. ‘She’s . . . Look. She didn’t come out with us last night. Didn’t speak to me all day. I thought she was too hungover, but . . . Some of the girls got chatting to those lads again. Sean just started on me, you know? I thought he was lovely, but . . .’
‘But you think he may have raped her?’
‘Well, I don’t know, but I think so.’
Chantal gave her a gentle smile, but her silence was as firm as any insistence that Nora owed it to her cousin to be completely honest with them.
Nora sighed again. ‘She sort of said something this morning, then she just stopped. After what happened to us last night, she clammed up any time I went near the topic. But . . .’ She refilled the glass and held it in front of her face. ‘Seeing you . . . It made me think.’
Had enough of this stalling. The girl’s reluctance to implicate herself might be costing her cousin dearly if she was still in Tulloch’s hands . . .
Chantal stepped over to the kitchen area. ‘Let me get this clear. You don’t have any idea whether she was attacked last night or not? Or whether she might be with her abuser as we speak?’