by Ed James
‘Aye, none taken.’
Well, not too much… though I wasn’t wet behind the ears to start with.
Still no sign of McNeill or Lauren.
Jain waved a hand at Finlay, his thumbs bashing at the screen like he was back at his game. ‘Fin been your partner long?’
‘Couple of years. Feels more like a pet sometimes.’ Hunter marched up and clapped Finlay on the shoulder. ‘Wakey, wakey.’
Finlay slowly turned round, palming his phone like a street magician. ‘Craig.’
‘Sarge back?’
‘Not yet. Still yakking with Bu— Sorry, Sharon.’ Finlay gave a nod to Jain. ‘Christ, Chantal Jain. How’s tricks?’
‘Fine, Compo. How’s your bollock?’
Finlay gurned. ‘Still get more use out of it than most with two.’
Hunter did a double-take. ‘Compo? What?’
‘You don’t know?’ Jain leaned in close. ‘Finlay and I used to walk the streets together. Got hooked into a drug raid in Pilton. Your partner here took a bullet. Lost a ball. Made a killing in the compo, hence the name.’
Hunter frowned at him. ‘You never told me that.’
‘Aye, and put up with all the bloody jokes?’ Finlay shrunk down in his chair. ‘1pac Shakur? Hitler?’ He shook his head. ‘Heard them all mate.’
Hunter crouched low. ‘Why are you still working with all that money?’
‘What—’
‘Excuse me?’ An overweight woman stood just down the corridor, bobbed hair flapping around as she tossed her head about. She carried a tote bag stuffed with clothes. ‘I’m looking for PC Sinclair.’
Finlay got to his feet, frowning. ‘Are you Mrs Ferguson’s pal?’
‘Neighbour, aye. Ailsa Crichton. I’ve come home from work especially.’ She held up the cream bag. ‘Pauline asked me to get some clothes for Stephanie.’
‘Thanks for that.’ Jain took the bag with a nod. ‘Can you wait with PC Sinclair here? I’ll check with my superior and keep you apprised of the situation, Mrs Crichton.’
Ailsa grabbed hold of Jain’s suit jacket. ‘It’s just, I need to get back to work?’
‘And I’ll see what the story is.’
‘Great.’ Ailsa collapsed onto the chair next to Finlay, her short skirt riding up to reveal an extra inch of her flabby thighs. ‘Do you know how much they charge for parking here?’
‘We’ll be as quick as we can.’ Jain gestured at Hunter to go first.
He opened the door and slowly entered Stephanie’s room. The window was open a crack, letting in a strong breeze. Had lost a fair few degrees in that time.
Stephanie was sitting up, her mother whispering into her ear and trying to stroke her back. Looked like she was going to get elbowed in the face.
What did I bloody tell her about speaking to the girl?
Hunter dumped the bag on the edge of the bed, making them jump enough to break apart their huddle. ‘Here’s some clothes for you, Stephanie. And Mrs Crichton’s here to take you home.’
‘Thank Christ for that.’ Pauline picked up the bag. ‘So we can get home now?’
‘You can.’
‘You’ve got all the evidence you need?’ Stephanie looked up at that, eyebrows arching above eyes that burned with the same fire as those of her mother. The young girl coughed. ‘You’re going to get him, right?’
‘It’s not as straightforward as that.’ Hunter raised his hands, trying to dampen the wildfire. He nodded over at Jain. ‘DS Jain here will—’
‘He raped me!’ Stephanie kneaded her temples, fresh tears streaking down her cheeks. ‘Nooooo…’
‘There, there. It’ll be all right, toots.’ Pauline started rubbing her daughter’s arms, not getting pushed back this time. Her glare left blisters on Hunter’s determination to catch the animal that had broken this child. ‘What did the doctor say?’
‘Well, she’s found no evidence. Like I said, DS Jain—’
‘Bloody doctors.’ Pauline kept glaring at Hunter. ‘Don’t know their arses from their elbows.’
‘DS Jain will be taking over from me and Sergeant Reid.’ Hunter stepped back, trying to distance himself. ‘She works for the Police Scotland Sexual Offences Unit.’
Chantal crouched down between Hunter and Stephanie. ‘We’ll need time with yourself, Mrs Fer—’
‘Pauline.’
‘Of course. And with Stephanie. We’ll come round later this evening to take her statement, if that’s okay?’
Pauline scowled at Hunter. ‘Here, how could they not find anything?’
Hunter glanced at Jain, who seemed like she was already regretting taking this case on. Bracing himself, he looked back at Pauline. ‘The doctor hoped some evidence would remain from the last contact, but that’s not the case.’
‘You lying bastard!’ Pauline was on her feet, prodding her nails into Hunter’s chest. Would’ve hurt if he hadn’t been wearing his stab-proof. ‘You should’ve found his spunk! You lot should—’
‘Mum…’
‘—ashamed of yourselves, you—’
‘Mum.’
‘—ing bunch of cu—’
‘Mum!’
Pauline jerked round, blinking hard at her daughter, now in floods of tears. ‘Christ, Stephanie.’ She spun back around and jabbed a finger charged with blame first at Hunter, then at her girl. ‘See what you’ve made me do now?’
No. No way is this my fault.
Hunter crouched down by the girl. ‘Stephanie, I need your help here, okay? The doctor couldn’t find any physical direct evidence to prove what’s been happening to you.’
She screwed her eyes tight. ‘What?’
‘When was the last time—’
‘Is he going to get off with this?’
‘Stephanie, when was the last time your stepfather abused you?’
She stared down at the floor. ‘Yesterday. Last night.’
Terrific…
Hunter tried to cover another sigh. Failed, judging by her expression. ‘Stephanie, you said it was this morning.’
Her eyes dropped to the floor. ‘It was last night, late. I was in my room. He… He came in and… He…’ She curled up into her ball again. ‘He grabbed my arms and…’ She tailed off, eyes clamped shut.
‘You see what you’re doing to my girl, you fu—’
‘Stop!’ Jain got between them. ‘Let’s park this for now, okay? I suggest we get you guys home and pick up again in a few hours.’
‘I’m not happy with you treating my girl as a liar.’
‘Nobody’s doing that.’
‘Make sure you get him for this, right?’ Pauline clapped Stephanie’s upper arms. The girl just about hit the ceiling. ‘Right, Toots, come on.’ She opened the bag and took out a springy purple top and some faded jeans. ‘This is your favourite, Steph.’ She held up a grey hoodie. ‘Want me to stay with you?’
Stephanie shook her head, much clearer than before.
Pauline put the hoodie down and smoothed it flat, like she was ironing it with her hands. ‘I’ll leave the clothes here and you can get dressed, okay?’
The girl mumbled something. Seemed to be assent.
Pauline kissed the top of her head. ‘Don’t be too long, okay?’
The family room door slid open and Ailsa bumbled in carrying two Starbucks cups. ‘Here you go, hen.’
Pauline tore the lid off and sucked in the stale coffee aroma. ‘You’re a lifesaver.’ She placed it on the table and blew across the surface. ‘Ailsa, thank God you’re here.’
‘It’s okay, honey.’ Ailsa wrapped a hug around Pauline. ‘You poor, poor thing.’
‘It’s Steph I’m worried about.’ Pauline pulled a chair up to the table and dropped into it, burying her head into her shoulder. ‘What have I done?’
Ailsa sat next to her and crossed her legs. ‘You need to cut that stoat bastard’s balls off.’ She narrowed her eyes at Hunter. ‘Then make him eat them. Then throw away the bloody key.’
‘We can�
��t do that, I’m afraid.’ Jain flashed a grin. ‘Much as we might like to.’
‘Aye, well you need to bloody do something!’ Ailsa’s whole body shook with the force of her rage, coffee splashing through the lid of her takeaway cup. ‘Get that animal off the bloody streets!’
Pauline clamped her eyes tight. ‘Steph…’
‘Shhh.’ Ailsa clasped Pauline’s hand, accidentally pushing her sleeve up and revealing the bracelet of bruises. ‘How could he do this to you?’
Pauline tugged the sleeve back down again, almost covering her entire hand. She locked eyes with Jain. ‘Will you do him for this?’
‘I’ll be honest with you. There’s always a chance that they get off with something like this. The right lawyer, evidence disappearing by accident.’ Jain wrinkled her nose. ‘What’s important for you is, whatever happens, you give Stephanie your full support, okay?’
Pauline took a long slurp of coffee, grimacing as she swallowed. ‘What should I do if I don’t believe her?’
‘In cases where children … fabricate such stories, there’s usually some other underlying issue.’
‘Are you saying I’m a bad mother?’
‘Nobody’s saying anything like that.’ You could spark a fire on Jain’s flinty eyes. ‘If this is a cry for help, then Stephanie needs to talk about something else.’
Another long gulp of coffee. ‘There’s nothing.’
‘All I ask is that you make sure there’s nothing.’
‘Here, you.’ Ailsa crumpled up her cup, the cardboard not quite complying with the intended gesture of intimidation. ‘Are you saying Pauline’s lying?’
‘I’m keen to deal with your concerns, Mrs Crichton, just as soon as I’ve spoken to the mother of the victim about the potential root causes of her trauma. Thank you so much for respecting that.’
Hunter checked his watch. Five minutes up. ‘I’ll just check on Stephanie.’
Hunter marched down the corridor, keeping perfect time as he passed the open doors. In one, a teenage boy was leaning forward, crying like a newborn as a doctor stroked his back.
Poor kid…
Hunter swung round the corner and neared on Stephanie’s room.
Not again… Stupid bastard…
Finlay was rocking back and forth on the chair, like a toddler needing the toilet, his fingers and focus on his mobile. ‘Come on, you twat, I’ve got you now. I’ve—’
‘Finlay.’ Hunter gripped his shoulder and pulled him back, his shoulder thunking off the hard plastic. ‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘Just waiting on the lassie.’ Finlay thumbed at the door as he pocketed his phone. ‘How’s the mother?’
‘Troublesome. Is she ready yet?’
Finlay shrugged. ‘No idea, jabroni.’
‘You’re a complete arsehead, you know that? Every time I see you, I hear circus music. Just waiting for you to throw a bucket of glitter on me.’ Hunter scowled at Finlay as he knocked on the door. ‘Stephanie, it’s PC Hunter. Are you ready to go?’
No response.
He knocked again. Harder this time. ‘Stephanie?’
Nothing.
Hunter grabbed the cold door handle and yanked at it. Bloody thing was locked. ‘No, no, no…’
A metal door grinding open, dusty heat burning at his skin. The smell of fresh leather and burnt wood. His foot kicking at the door, pushing it wide. A girl’s body swinging from a rope, gently spinning. Eyes popping out of her head, her swollen tongue almost touching her chin.
Adrenaline spiked in his veins, thumped in the back of his neck.
‘No, no, no.’
‘What’s up with you?’ Finlay was stepping back, fingers crossed like he was warding off a vampire.
‘She’s bloody killed herself!’ Hunter kicked Finlay away and booted the door. ‘Stephanie! I’m coming in!’ He kicked at the painted wood and forced the door off its top hinges. It stumbled open, like a Friday-night drunk outside a kebab shop. Hunter piled into the room and did a one-eighty.
The bed was empty. Her gown was half on the bed, the other half dangling down to the floor. The bag sat next to the pillow, but the clothes were gone.
Hunter raced over to the window. Ground floor, no height for a suicide.
But no sign of her either.
She’d just run off.
Hunter’s shoulders slumped and he breathed again. She must have left through the door. How the hell could this happen? How could that amateur sit outside and play on his phone when…
Never mind Finlay. I shouldn’t have let the girl out of my sight. Shouldn’t have let her do this to herself. Put herself at risk. Again.
Traumatised, confused, vulnerable… and now alone.
Or had she been taken?
8
Hunter raced down the corridor, leaving Stephanie’s room behind him, and shouted into his chest-mounted Airwave: ‘PC Sinclair turned his back for a minute, Sarge.’
Lauren groaned down the line. Could just about make out her footsteps as she paced away from someone, probably McNeill. ‘Was he playing that bloody game?’
Hunter cut round the corner into the main concourse. ‘We need to know where she’s gone.’
‘Hang on, we’re just by the security room.’
Hunter rested against the barrier and scanned the area, chest heaving as he tried to get his breathing back under control. A wide, blank space filled with people, some supported by Zimmers, some cradling newborns. The dark musk of strong coffee just about overpowered the hospital smell.
No grey hoodies.
No tall teenage girls.
You can catch a cat, but you lose a girl. When it comes down to it, you can’t do it.
He wheeled around, scanning every face in the crowd. A man looked away from his uniform, stepped aside. Hunter got up close and eyeballed him. Got something in Polish for his trouble.
‘Craig, you there?’
Hunter tapped his Airwave. ‘I’m at the entrance.’ He started across the concourse, passing the crowded newsagents and bumping into a man in a suit. ‘You got anything yet?’
‘There’s a camera just outside her room.’ Lauren spoke in a low voice, like she was trying to keep a lid on her rage. ‘She just bloody sneaked past Sinclair. Can you believe it? Locked the door behind her, as well! He’s going to pay—’
‘Where did she go?’
‘Right.’ Lauren paused to clear her throat. ‘She went down the corridor away from her room, then doubled back to the main hall. Just walked out of the front door.’
‘Cheers, Sarge.’ Hunter sprinted across the foyer and through the entrance into the car park, his rattling vest not even close to silencing his self-criticism. He trotted to a stop among the rows of parked vehicles, searching for a grey hoodie or a purple top between the multicolour metal.
Come on, come on. Where are you?
Trying to spot a teenaged girl in a hoodie was like identifying a gambler in a police canteen. None of the twenty-odd girls cleared six foot, let alone Stephanie’s towering height.
‘Any idea where she went next, Sarge?’
Rows and rows of cars, seemed like every make and model ever sold. A yellow van flashed on its reverse lights and slipped back into one of the few empty spaces. Back on the main road, a grey Peugeot with a matching roof box slalomed between two buses and powered past, a woman on the back seat huffing and puffing.
‘There’s a blind spot outside, Craig.’
What’s the point in monitoring everyone’s bloody movements if you can still lose people you need to track?
The massive expanse of the hospital sprawled behind him, hordes of smokers lining the designated area. Up on the hill in the distance, the last few towers of Niddrie stood like squat sentries, guarding the city’s horizon.
Where would she go?
Hunter darted over to the bus area, the road closed off to cars and vans. A 49 heading for Rosewell crawled out from the stop, leaving just two old ladies dressed for winter in the shelt
er. He slid to a halt on the crossing and waved his hands in front of the bus.
It jerked to a halt, the driver’s head almost connecting with the glass as he rocked forward in his seat.
Hunter mouthed an apology and skipped round to the hissing door, jamming himself between the railings and the bus. ‘I’m looking for a girl. She’s sixteen, tall.’ He held a hand above his head.
The driver was already shaking his head. ‘Sorry, pal. Just two old wifies and a dar— an ethnic gentleman.’
‘Right.’ Hunter stepped back and let the bus start up again. He swung around — just a steady stream of cars and vans coming in — and stormed over to the bus stop. The two old women beamed at him like he was a cross between George Clooney and Jesus. ‘I’m looking for a teenage girl. Sixteen, tall, dark hair.’
‘I bet you are, son.’ The woman on the left nudged her pal. ‘Mary here’s looking for John Lennon in his—’
Jesus wept…
Hunter spun around, trying to get a better view. ‘This is important. You’ve not seen her?’
‘Sorry, son.’
‘Cheers.’ Hunter stomped away from them, fists clenched. The next stop was empty, as were the small grassy hills behind.
Another bus revved over the crossing, aiming for one of the three stops on the far side.
A grey hoodie darted between two tall vans.
Hunter held his cap tight to his head and bombed over the road.
The hoodie paced towards the bus, thumbs sticking through straps in a green backpack.
Hunter pushed through a crowd of old men and grabbed an arm. ‘Excuse me, miss.’
The hood twisted round. A young man scowled out, all piercings and thick stubble. ‘Miss?’
‘Sorry, I’ve got the wrong person.’ Hunter let him go and took a few steps back into clear space away from bus queues. He stabbed a finger on his Airwave, gaze drifting around. ‘PC Hunter to PC Sinclair. Over.’
‘Receiving, over.’
‘I’ve drawn a blank at the front. Got anything?’
‘Not a sausage, big ma—’