Craig Hunter Books 1-3

by Ed James

  Jain chinked her wine glass against his, a thin bead of red sliding down the outside. She licked her finger and caught it before it hit the stem. ‘Thanks for letting me buy the drinks.’

  ‘You earn more than me, Sarge, so…’

  ‘Cheeky sod. It’s not that much more, you know?’ Jain held his gaze as she took a long drink. ‘Ah, that’s better. Could do without having been open for a week, but beggars can’t be choosers.’ She looked around the place. ‘So why here?’

  ‘I prefer this to the Elm.’

  She tilted her head to the side. ‘Sure that’s it?’

  ‘Well, Lauren’s a regular in there. Lives round the corner.’

  ‘I know a couple of regulars. A sort of ex of mine and the cowboy. What a pair of chancers.’

  Hunter frowned. ‘Do I know the cowboy?’

  ‘Doubt it.’ She took another sip. ‘I’m still not buying that as the reason.’

  ‘Maybe I wanted to get you alone?’

  She pouted. ‘That’s not it, either.’

  ‘You passed the test…’ Hunter took another drink. ‘Finlay asked me if I wanted a pint and I knocked him back. Said I had Krav Maga. It’s a martial—’

  ‘I know what it is.’ Another sip of wine. ‘And do you?’

  ‘Not been for ages.’

  She smirked, her eyes twinkling in the spotlights. ‘You know how I used to work in the MIT? Well, I went and caught up with a few of them. Guess what they call Finlay?’

  ‘Arseface?’

  She shook her head. ‘Well, Elvis has now started calling him 1pac, but that’s a side matter.’ She twisted her glass around, the lipstick mark swivelling to point at Hunter. ‘Napalm.’

  ‘That’s good.’ Hunter laughed and took another drink of beer. ‘Tell you what, I don’t like the smell of Napalm in the morning. Especially after he’s had one of his garlic specials the night before.’

  ‘You make quite the pair.’ She grimaced. ‘Well, he doesn’t, of course.’ She shook her head and sipped at her wine. ‘So. You really saved a cat at lunchtime?’

  Hunter gave another shrug, condensation dripping down the side of his glass. ‘Just doing my job.’

  ‘You’re such a sweetie.’

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘God, yeah. I remember at Tulliallan, you always had a different spin on things.’

  Wonder why that was…

  ‘First four weeks on the job, that.’ Hunter took a much bigger drink than he intended. ‘I just like cats. Finlay was next to useless.’

  ‘Have you got one?’

  ‘Bubble. She’s a bit of a handful. Thought of getting another one to keep her company, but I just don’t have the time. Plus, I’m taking the piss with my landlord as it is.’

  Her dimpled smile turned into a frown. ‘Why are you still helping out with this case?’

  ‘I’ve not got a choice.’

  ‘You’ve got a Messiah complex.’

  ‘Ten years getting kicked up the arse if you don’t follow orders does funny things to a man.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You know I was in the Army, right?’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Enlisted at sixteen and I was off to Iraq.’

  ‘Jesus. I had no idea.’ She sipped at the wine, gazing into space. ‘How was it?’

  ‘Hell. Just…’ Hunter shut his eyes. ‘Hell. That’s the only way you can describe it. Never met the devil, but you could smell the brimstone. The shit we had to do, man… And the heat. It’s like getting off the plane in Ibiza and walking into a wall of fire, only it’s ten times drier.’

  She pulled a face. ‘I know I’m one of those foreigners stealing jobs and everything, but I can’t stand anything hotter than eighteen degrees.’

  ‘Yeah, it took me a while to realise I wanted to get out of that kitchen.’

  ‘Ten years is a long time, though?’

  Hunter stared into the depths of his beer. ‘Didn’t have the imagination to leave.’

  ‘So, if you’re really that set on following orders, why do you rock the boat so often?’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘You don’t want to know what they call you.’

  ‘When you say “they”, you mean Elvis, right? Guy’s an arse.’

  ‘That he is.’ She toasted her glass in the air before taking another drink. ‘Conan.’

  ‘Conan?’ He looked down at his creeping gut, still sticking out despite hours of the plank. ‘That because I’ve got Arnold Schwarzenegger’s physique?’

  ‘Hardly. It’s because you’re a barbarian. All that farting and your BO.’

  ‘I don’t stink, do I?’

  ‘You’ve cleaned up since Tulliallan.’

  Hunter shook his head again. ‘Bloody wankers up there, I tell you.’

  Jain wrapped her hands around her glass. ‘The cowboy said you used to work with him up at St Leonard’s?’

  ‘You’re talking about Scott Cullen, right?’

  ‘That’s the one. So why are you in uniform now?’

  ‘Wish I knew. Wasn’t my decision.’

  ‘Really? Cullen said you were a decent detective.’

  ‘Well, that shows how little he knows.’ Hunter stared over at the attract sequence on the fruit machine as it hooked in another solo drinker. ‘I clearly wasn’t if I got busted down to uniform. Maybe I should’ve taken a leaf out of the cowboy’s book.’

  ‘He’s doing well. Rumour is he’ll be a DI soon.’

  And they say there’s justice in the world…

  Hunter took another swig. ‘He’s only just got his DS post. The guy’s inept.’

  ‘Come on, he’s not inept.’

  ‘Right, so he’s ept?’

  ‘Very good.’ Jain swept a hand across her fringe, tucking it over. ‘You know that chat we had earlier? Have you actually applied for a DC position?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘But you’ve been in uniform for, what, two years?’

  ‘They didn’t want me, Chantal.’ Hunter took another drink of beer. Already hitting his head like a train. ‘Enough about my tale of woe. How are you doing out in Bathgate?’

  ‘Changing the subject?’

  ‘Naturally.’

  She looked away. ‘I’m okay.’ She finished her glass.

  Hunter nodded at her empty. The car key in his pocket dug into his thigh. He could drive now, scope out the territory, do a bit of undercover work. Or… He picked up his pint and drained it. ‘My round.’

  She grinned, the dimple puncturing her cheek. ‘Is there an alternative?’

  Day 2

  Wednesday

  12th August

  19

  ‘—where police are still searching for schoolgirl Stephanie Ferguson, who disappeared from Edinburgh Royal Infirmary yesterday afternoon. Anyone with any information as to her whereabouts—’

  Hunter snapped off the radio and cracked another egg into the smoking oil, the clear substance flashing to white as it started bubbling in the pan. The toaster popped up and he flipped the first egg over, the white sizzling afresh.

  Fluff swept round his legs, swishing against his ankles. ‘Mieaow.’ Bubble’s food bowl must be empty.

  Hunter separated the hissing and spitting eggs with a plastic spatula. ‘Time to feed you, young lady—’

  Arms reached around him from behind, hugging his bare chest. Kisses traced up his neck. ‘How’s my big constable?’

  Hunter stood there, feet cold on the kitchen floor. The buttons on Jain’s shirt rubbed against his back. ‘I’m good.’ He twisted round and wrapped his arms around her. ‘How do you want your eggs?’

  ‘You might’ve fertilised them last night.’

  ‘Shut up. I used two condoms at the last count.’ Hunter reached over to kiss her. ‘I meant sunny side up or … the other one. Where you flip it over.’

  ‘Over easy.’ She grinned at him and pinched his cheek. ‘Thought I smelled moisturiser. You know you’ve got more products in that tiny bath
room than I have in mine?’

  ‘It’s 2015. Eggs?’

  ‘Over easy.’

  ‘That’s how I like them, too.’

  ‘And burnt by the looks of things.’

  ‘Terrific.’ He tried to break off from her embrace. Failed.

  ‘I’m not hungry.’ She grabbed his balls through his shorts, sharp nails making him clench. ‘There are definitely two here.’

  ‘Funny.’

  ‘You’ve got a choice, Hunter. Eggs or balls.’

  ‘I’m running late.’

  ‘Then so am I.’

  ‘Come on, I’ve got to get into my uniform, you just need to chuck on your blouse and knickers.’

  ‘And that’s after I let you into them.’

  ‘Christ, your chat’s awful.’

  ‘Come here.’ Jain reached over and turned off the hob. She clasped his hand tight and led him into the hall. Then she broke off, spinning around and walking backwards into the bedroom, the bedside lamp lighting up her skin. She undid the topmost of the shirt’s three buttons. Then the second. Then the last. And then she shrugged free of the garment, casually letting it fall on the floor. The morning light from the window outlined the graceful curve of her hips as she sashayed towards the bed, reclined on it, and ever so slowly spread her legs. ‘I see you’ve made your choice, then.’

  Hunter knelt on the edge of the bed and eased off his shorts. ‘Going to have to brave the canteen’s fried eggs with their little bits of bacon stuck in.’

  ‘Yum.’

  Hunter crawled up the bed on his hands and knees, taking his time. He pulled himself closer and ran a hand up her bare leg from the ankle to the knee, tiny dots of sharp stubble rustling. He kissed her on her inner thigh. ‘Sure you don’t want any eggs?’ Another kiss. ‘Got them from my brother’s hens at the—’

  ‘I don’t want any eggs, Craig.’ Her tight fingers gripped round his shoulders. ‘Now, shut up and kiss me.’

  ‘Craig!’

  Hunter pulled into Leith Walk’s underground car park and cleared the barrier. ‘What’s up?’

  Jain was almost sucked down into the fabric of her seat. ‘I told you to drop me off a block away.’

  ‘Ashamed to be seen with me?’

  ‘It’s not that, it’s just—’

  ‘So it is that?’ Hunter parked his car and leaned over to kiss her. Long and hard. ‘Ashamed to be seen with me?’

  Crack. The window behind him.

  Jain’s eyes bulged. ‘Shite.’

  Hunter swung round.

  Finlay was gurning in through the driver’s side window, clutching a massive coffee beaker. ‘Morning!’

  ‘Terrific.’ Hunter pressed the button and the driver-side zipped down. ‘Morning yourself.’

  ‘You two love birds out for a spot of early-morning dogging?’

  ‘If we are, you’re not joining in, Finlay.’

  ‘Funny.’

  The passenger door clicked open. ‘I’ll see you guys upstairs.’ Jain practically ran across the concourse.

  Hunter turned to Finlay, now resting on the door. ‘Thanks for that.’

  He smacked his lips. ‘I’ll say one thing for your taste in poontang, I’d smash her backdoors in.’

  ‘Jesus, Fin, you’re a bloody Neanderthal. You can’t say misogynistic bullshit like that.’

  ‘Whatever.’ Finlay leered at Hunter. ‘Bet you have. Several times.’

  ‘No comment.’ Hunter pulled his keys out of the ignition. Almost like he resents me for not getting pissed with him or heading out for some PI action last night. ‘If you must know, I spotted her on Leith Walk and gave her a lift up. Ever heard of being courteous?’ He started winding up the window.

  ‘Watch it!’ Finlay had to jump out of the way, splashing coffee on the concrete. ‘How was Krav Maga?’

  Hunter got out of the car and zapped it. ‘It was fine.’

  ‘Fine, eh?’ Finlay unfolded a stack of papers. ‘Well, look lively, we’ve got a lead on the lassie.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Princess said we’re plainclothes today.’ Finlay waved at Hunter’s shirt and jeans, the same as last night. ‘You can keep that Brokeback special on.’ He tossed him a copy of that morning’s Argus. ‘We’re famous!’

  Hunter scanned it. A grainy CCTV shot of Stephanie at the hospital sat alongside “MISSING: EDINBURGH TEENAGER FLEES COPS”. ‘Famous? More like infamous. The kind of losers who get their own YouTube video reel.’

  ‘I’ll take it, jabroni. Anyway, Keith’s giving us the big Saab for the day.’ Finlay tossed the keys in the air and caught them with a smug pout you’d never tire of slapping. ‘Come on, I’m driving.’

  Finlay stuffed the coffee cup back in the holder, somehow managing to splash half the content over the upholstery. ‘If that guy was shagging her… Can you imagine? Same with her old man.’ He turned right onto St Andrew’s Square, a tram rattling past them. He stopped at the first set of lights and twisted round, a stupid grin on his face. ‘Tell you, this car is the shizzle.’

  Give me Chantal any day…

  Hunter rubbed his eyes, desperate for a cup of tea and some protein. ‘So, what’s this lead?’

  Finlay gave him his best pervy leer. Can’t beat natural talent. ‘After you tell me about you and DS Jain.’

  A slight tremor shook Hunter’s hands, so he clamped them over his knees. Still throbbing, like he’d popped the cartilage out. ‘Tell me about the lead.’

  ‘You let her do the walk of shame, you dirty bastard.’

  Hunter slumped back in his seat as they stopped at the second set of lights on the bit of Princes Street you could still drive on. ‘I’m saying nothing.’

  ‘Good effort, sir. Like I say, cracking—’

  ‘Lead. Now.’

  ‘Nice arse on her. Come on, did you shag her?’

  ‘Finlay, you don’t say things like that about another man’s—’

  ‘Girl?’ A wide smirk made Finlay look even dafter than usual. No mean feat. ‘So it’s serious? How long’s it been going on for?’

  ‘Piss off, Napalm.’

  Close to punching this clown. Put his head straight through the window. No need to open it first.

  ‘What. Is. The. Lead?’

  ‘Look, sorry I mentioned it, jabroni. Your secret’s safe with me.’ Finlay crossed his heart and took a slurp of coffee, sucking through the lid like a kid hoovering up the dregs of a milkshake. ‘Been in since five this morning chewing up the work, man. That sighting in Musselburgh? False alarm. Girl looked a bit like Stephanie. Wasn’t her…’

  ‘So what is it?’

  ‘Transpires young Stephanie did catch a bus.’ Finlay set off from the traffic light, then licked his lips as he took a right just past the bus station. ‘Me and Elvis found her walking right in here.’

  Hunter accompanied Finlay across the canteen, then took a seat at a vacant table. ‘I’ll wait here for your mysterious contact.’

  Finlay tapped his temple and marched off. Like he was in a clichéd spy novel and needed to find the microfilm before someone in East Germany got killed.

  Hunter stretched out and looked around. The place was buzzing with early-morning depression, even though it looked like midday outside. Still got a few weird looks from the drivers. A few sniffs, too, never mind that his uniform was back in his locker.

  A kingdom for a cup of tea and a week of sleep.

  He picked up the paper and scanned through the news story.

  If this was Buchan’s tigers, they were at risk of extinction. What a shower of slack-jawed amateurs. The article wasn’t so much trying to help find Stephanie as have a go at the police, but whichever keyboard warrior was responsible for it, they couldn’t even get their teeth into it. All weak opinions and regurgitated platitudes.

  How very Edinburgh.

  Hunter stared out of the window across the bus station tarmac. A middle-aged woman in a lime-and-pink tartan suit was struggling with her massive suitcase, not far off
her own size. Must be American. A shifty bloke in a billowy blouse and cut-off tracky bottoms ambled up and offered to help her. Looked like love at first sight.

  Hard to believe that only yesterday Stephanie had been in the same spot… Aimlessly running from her abusers or desperately racing to some mysterious haven of safety?

  ‘Over here, sweet cheeks.’ Finlay clapped Hunter on the back and hot-stepped across the canteen, Hunter choosing to let him go ahead by himself. Better to come in heavy-handed later, lay on some extra pressure when the interview ran out of steam.

  He grabbed the paper and headed over to a table near the back, aiming for a subtle vantage point on Finlay and his mysterious informant.

  Finlay was all big gestures and bravado as he met his man, shaking hands as they took a seat. ‘Tam McEwan?’

  ‘Depends on who’s asking.’ Everything about the guy was grey. His slicked-back hair, the thin beard, the bus company suit covered in union badges. ‘You the police?’

  Finlay showed him his warrant card, like he was a seasoned detective. ‘That I am.’

  ‘Then, aye, I am he.’ Tam slumped down and necked an energy drink. He opened a can of Red Bull. Looked like he needed them both — deep lines ran away from his eyes. ‘Billy Pollock sent you, aye?’

  Finlay pushed a photo across the table. ‘We’re looking to trace this girl.’ He let Tam snatch it, waited for him to get a good look. ‘Her name’s Stephanie Ferguson. We understand she got on a bus you were driving last night.’

  ‘Quarter to six through to Glasgow. Last run of my shift.’ Tam dumped the photo back on the table. ‘I drove twelve routes yesterday, you know that, right? There and back. That’s a lot of people.’

  ‘Your supervisor said you recognised her.’

  ‘I did, but…’ Tam stared at the image again, bleary-eyed like he was still half-cut. ‘Buggered if I know anything else, pal. Sorry.’

  Hunter took the negative body language as his cue, crossed the room and tossed the newspaper on the table in front of Tam. ‘That’s her there.’

  ‘Easy, pal! You a cop, too? Hold on just a minute now… Shite, is that her?’ Tam held the paper at arm’s reach, like he’d never been face to face with a broadsheet before. ‘Christ.’ He finished his can and crumpled it, eyes locked on the page. ‘Aye, I remember her now.’