Craig Hunter Books 1-3

by Ed James

A red car blasted past, wheels spinning as it took off. Looked like a Hyundai.

  Hunter spun his head to catch the number plate, bile shooting up his throat.

  He could see the back of Stephanie’s head inside the car.

  No, no, no…

  Come on, get the registration.

  SA61…

  And it was gone. Just a partial.

  Stephanie’s gone – taken – and I don’t have a bloody—

  ‘Are you okay?’ A woman in heels clicked over to him, concern etched on her face.

  ‘We’re police, ma’am.’ Hunter could barely keep his eyes open. ‘Did you see that car?’

  ‘Going too fast for a built-up—’

  ‘Did you get a plate?’

  ‘Sorry, no.’

  Hunter stared down the street, the horizon keeling to the left, then sliding right.

  Go after the Hyundai? Or help Finlay?

  ‘Stay with him!’ Hunter wrestled with the squad car door and got behind the wheel. The road swayed in front of him, blurring like a rifle sight out of focus. He fumbled with the ignition and twisted until the engine roared. The sound wobbled, threatening to cut out again.

  Not now…

  Hunter drove out slowly, wrestling his seatbelt down and clicking it in as he floored the accelerator. Too hard. The Saab jolted forward. He eased off and jabbed at his Airwave: ‘PC Craig Hunter to Sergeant Lauren Reid, over.’

  ‘Safe to talk, Craig.’ The high-speed drone of the engine blended in with the wailing siren. ‘What’s up?’

  Hunter slowed the car down as nausea blackened the edges of his vision. ‘She’s been taken.’

  ‘We know that. You found her.’

  Hunter pulled the car to the right, barrelling down a side street and fighting back the urge to throw up. ‘No, someone’s taken her. Assaulted me and Fin—’

  ‘Shit.’

  Hunter hit the brakes and skidded to a halt. The road ahead was blocked by bollards. He slammed the Saab into reverse and revved back onto the pavement, getting an earful from an old man walking his dog. ‘I’m in pursuit of the car, a red Hyundai SUV, license plate beginning SA61.’

  ‘We’re just passing Haymarket, Craig. Can you keep them in sight?’

  ‘Get other units out here, okay?’ Hunter slowed at the T-junction across from a token-gesture park, his skull feeling like it’d been cloven open. To the right, a blur of red weaved between the oncoming traffic in the far distance, just by the lump of trees on Corstorphine Hill. ‘Got sight of the vehicle again, Sarge.’ He pulled off to the right, blues and twos blaring out into the morning air.

  A row of old women at the bus stop followed his arc as he scythed through the traffic.

  ‘Okay, Craig, I’ve got three units heading your way. Can you give us a better description?’

  ‘It’s like the car on the Walking Dead. You know, the one that didn’t get a scratch?’

  ‘Colourful as ever…’

  ‘But red… Need to go.’ Hunter stabbed his Airwave and burst forward in the right-hand lane, cars screeching onto the pavement at his approach. Another T-junction. He sped right, squeezing a silver Audi and a grey Mondeo aside. Ahead, the cars on the main road slowed, a 26 bus dragging a bow wave of slow traffic behind it.

  Hunter let the Saab eat up the gap to the last car. He blared along the road, more like a country lane than a city thoroughfare, fields to the left, council houses and a once-posh hotel opposite. Round the bend, they were heeding his cry and pulling in.

  Where the hell was the Hyundai? Was it even the same one?

  Hunter slowed, checking every car as he passed. Not a single red car. He stopped at the mini-roundabout and looked around.

  Right went deeper into Clermiston, ahead back down the hill to St John’s Road. Which way?

  Hunter darted forward, pedal to the metal as he ploughed down the hill, gaining speed like a rolling egg on Easter Sunday.

  A bus on the right pulled out and jolted to a stop, blocking the oncoming traffic. Blocking Hunter.

  Terrific.

  He honked the horn. Nothing was moving. Wait. An old Sierra, an ivory-white museum piece, mounted the kerb, all four wheels on the grass verge.

  Gave Hunter the inch he needed. He crawled round it, waving a distracted thank you, and powered on down the hill.

  Red flashed to his left.

  Hunter hit the brakes and slid to a halt, neck craning round. Too far — another wave of nausea crashed through his skull.

  The red Hyundai sped out of the bus terminus, a tight roundabout doubling back the way, and cleared through Hunter’s wake, heading back up the hill.

  The bastard’s keeping away from the main road…

  Hunter slammed the stick into reverse and whizzed round, just touching a Passat as he stopped and bolted forward, retracing his path.

  The traffic was still just about static, sitting off the carriageway. A few cars stirred, sensing their chance to get off to the office.

  Still no sign of the bloody Hyundai.

  Wait. There. Coming right towards him on the grass.

  How the bloody hell did—

  He pulled into the Hyundai’s path, the Saab’s front wheels clambering onto the grass verge.

  The Hyundai feinted left and tore past his rear end with a crack.

  Terrific…

  Hunter engaged the four-wheel drive and slammed it into reverse again, screeching round. He swayed to the side, his vision blacking out.

  Thunk!

  The car rolled forward.

  Hunter crunched on the handbrake and looked around. The back window’s glass had fractured. He’d hit a streetlight, the concrete base. Sounded like it had torn off half of the rear end. He stuck the car in first and gave it some welly. The Saab came back to life with a raging growl.

  Not to worry, Keith can fix it later.

  The Hyundai was in his sights now, snowballing down Clermiston Road, the main route out of Edinburgh. Then it took a left, along a former country lane long swallowed up by the city’s ravenous appetite to eat away at its own greenbelt.

  Hunter followed, passing mossed walls guarding old stone houses as he bounced over a sleeping policeman.

  The Hyundai swayed round a tight right turn and disappeared.

  That’s how you’re playing it, is it?

  Hunter pulled on the handbrake and skidded right, kicking down to second as he got to the apex of the turn and gaining a couple of metres on the fugitive.

  The road was much quieter, just a lime-green Picasso using it as a rat run. Hunter slalomed through a chicane, tires squealing to the accompaniment of a squeaky blast from the Citroën’s horn.

  He sped up as he descended the hill, generic post-war bungalows blurring past. Ahead, the wide expanse of Edinburgh opened up, rooftops and trees all the way to the Pentland hills bulging on the horizon.

  Through another chicane.

  There it was, the Hyundai barrelling down the hill and—

  Terrific.

  An old man was pushing a brown bin across the road.

  Hunter screeched to a halt, the whiplash filling his head with red-hot pain. The man shook his fist in the air as Hunter put his foot down and swerved around him. Just then his knee decided to get in on the act, screaming out and making him pull his foot up again. Seconds ticking away… He gritted his teeth and pushed the pedal down full.

  The bungalows gave way to mansions on one side, trees obscuring most of them. He took a tough left turn as parked cars doubled up, ring-fencing the small hospital.

  Slammed the brakes on as another T-junction came out of nowhere.

  Corstorphine Road to the left, St John’s to the right.

  No red Hyundai in either direction.

  23

  Hunter pulled up outside Gaynor Tait’s house, now surrounded by squad cars, and parked behind an ambulance. The engine coughed and spluttered, then juddered off.

  Knackered another car…

  Hunter got out and nudged the d
oor shut. The day was far too bloody bright. He screwed his eyes up and blinked back tears of pain. His head wanted to cuddle his feet. A shake of it and it was better, maybe. His shoulders were aching, his knee twanged and his skull…

  Man up!

  Pain is weakness leaving your body.

  Aye, might believe that shite tomorrow.

  He shuffled around to the back of the car and had a look at the boot. Looked like someone had taken a golf club to it.

  Or that bonus stage in Street Fighter II…

  A female paramedic wheeled a gurney past Hunter, spirals of straw-blonde hair dancing in the early-morning light.

  ‘Jabroni…’ Finlay was on his back, struggling to keep his eyes open. ‘Craig, my man…’

  Hunter clenched his jaw. ‘How’s he doing?’

  The paramedic locked the gurney onto the ramp and started pulling Finlay up. ‘He’s a heavy lump, for starters.’

  Finlay stared up at the sky, eyes rolling back in his head. Guy was completely out of it.

  ‘Will he be okay?’

  ‘He’s got a concussion and he’ll need some stitches. Gave him a shot of morphine to stop him shouting.’ The paramedic rolled her eyes at him. ‘This is pretty far from the worst I’ve ever seen, put it that way. A length of pipe, though.’

  Hunter rubbed at the back of his head. His hair was matted with blood. A thick clump came away in his fingers, moist and sticky. ‘I could do with—’

  ‘Hunter! Over here!’

  Lauren’s hi-viz glowed in the sunshine over by an orange Focus, the car almost as bright as her vest. McNeill and Jain rested against the car, faces that could turn milk into yoghurt.

  Hunter trudged over to them, hands in pockets, and gave Jain a nod. ‘Morning.’

  Jain stood up tall and got out her Airwave. ‘I’ll go and check how the search is going.’

  What was going on?

  Hunter frowned at her, his heart descending to the pit of his guts. ‘We’ve not found him yet?’

  ‘Him?’ Jain stopped and turned back round. ‘You saw a man driving?’

  ‘Didn’t see anyone…’ Hunter gave a shrug. ‘You’ve not found the Hyundai?’

  ‘Not yet.’ Jain stormed off towards the house, overtaking a gaggle of Forensic officers with an urgency that seemed to be about more than the case. What the hell was going on?

  Lauren grabbed Hunter’s stab-proof and led him away from McNeill and the Focus. ‘How are you doing, Craig?’

  ‘I’ll live.’ Another experimental tap at his crown. Stung like a bastard as his matted hair pulled away from the wound. ‘Finlay’s not looking good.’

  ‘So I gather.’ Lauren’s gaze settled on the paramedic wheeling him away. ‘But then he can be a drama queen.’

  ‘Didn’t get off as lightly as me.’

  ‘You’re kidding, right?’ Lauren’s eyes darted all over Hunter’s face. ‘You’ve got blood everywhere.’

  ‘Seriously?’ Hunter rubbed at his neck, slick with blood. ‘I’ll get myself cleaned up back at the station.’ He perched on a low wall, the cold brick chilling his buttocks. ‘I’m sorry, Sarge. I tried to give chase, but there’s too many ways he could’ve gone down there.’ He punched the wall. Hurt more than it should’ve done. ‘If only I’d caught him before—’

  ‘You keep saying “him”. Was it the same guy as at the house?’

  ‘I didn’t get a look. Could’ve been a woman.’

  ‘Think it could be this boyfriend?’

  ‘Not sure.’

  ‘The father?’

  ‘Well, she didn’t know he was alive. I had to break the news to her.’

  ‘With your notorious tact and diplomacy, I suppose.’

  What’s that supposed to mean?

  ‘I doubt it’s him.’ Hunter patted his skull again. ‘We spoke to Stephanie before … this happened. I’d put money on whoever’s taken her being connected to Doug Ferguson.’

  ‘And is there a chain of logic tying this policeman’s hunch to the material evidence of this case?’

  Hunter nodded at the block of flats. ‘Stephanie told us Doug wanted her to run away with him. I got the impression he was in love with her.’

  ‘Oh, sweet Jesus.’

  Hunter folded his arms. ‘She said he was beating up her mother.’

  ‘I didn’t want to hear that.’ Lauren rubbed a hand across her forehead. ‘If that’s true, all bets are off.’

  ‘I’ve dealt with guys like that a load of times, Sarge. Usually got at least one screw loose. Christ knows what’s going on in his head.’

  McNeill joined them, leaning against the wall next to Hunter. ‘If it’s true, we’ve got a lot of work to do.’

  ‘You heard that?’

  ‘Enough.’ McNeill gave him a nod. ‘This is sounding more and more like one of our cases.’ She pushed herself off the wall again, eyes switching between Hunter and Lauren. ‘Do you know why the Sexual Offences Unit was set up?’

  ‘To cut the number of rapes?’ Hunter rocked back on the wall. ‘Raise the conviction rate?’

  ‘Partly.’ McNeill gritted her teeth. ‘Our primary focus is on serial abusers and rapists. That’s how serial killers start out. It’s all about escalation from that first rape and we want to trap them as early in their cycle as possible.’

  Hunter’s crown started throbbing like an IED had just gone off next to him. ‘You think Doug Ferguson fits the pattern?’

  ‘First he’s knocking Mrs Ferguson around, then he’s raping her daughter. Men like that usually have a few other women in their pasts, too scared to speak out. You wouldn’t believe how brave Stephanie was.’

  A woman’s voice called from behind them, harsh and guttural. ‘Sharon!’

  Hunter swivelled around.

  A skeletal woman limped up the hill, clutching a digital recorder in one hand, an ivory-handled walking stick in the other. ‘Sharon, it’s Linda? Heard about the car chase and wondered if there’s a story here? Looks like it?’

  McNeill let out a groan, her eyes flickering. ‘The rise of the bloody bloggers.’ She stood up tall and smiled at her. ‘Just give me a minute and I’ll be over.’

  ‘Aye, that’s smashing?’

  Hunter got up and shoved his hands in his pockets. Then stuck them behind his back, standing at ease. ‘Want me going door-to-door, ma’am?’

  ‘No, Craig.’ McNeill looked along the street at Jain as she got into her pool car. ‘This teacher’s on her way in to Leith Walk. I want you and DS Jain interviewing her.’

  ‘With all due respect, ma’am, I’m not a DC.’

  ‘But you used to be, right?’ McNeill raised one of her sculpted eyebrows. ‘I gather you’re building up a rapport with DS Jain.’

  Do you now?

  ‘Oh, in the name of the wee man.’ Fat Keith patted the back end of the Saab, treating the crack on the bumper like a child with a broken leg. He glanced at Hunter, doe eyes brimming with disappointment, then his focus went back to the car. ‘This is my pride and joy, son. I trusted you with her!’

  ‘Keith, what can I say? She did me proud in the heat of battle.’

  ‘Well, glad as I am to hear it, I don’t want to have to fit another bumper to her. And that bloody boot…’

  ‘She’ll live.’

  ‘Aye, to fight another day.’ Keith looked over, eyebrows arched. Lone hairs spiralled up, caught in the low lighting of the car park. ‘She did good, though, aye?’

  ‘Almost helped me catch the suspect.’

  ‘Aye, well, almost isn’t good enough, right?’ Keith blew air through his lips, sending shockwaves up his piggy jowls. Then he turned his back on Hunter and crouched down to the clapped-out old banger. ‘We’re no’ done with you yet, hen? You hear me?’

  Hunter dabbed at his head, his eyes watering as pain scored from his temple all the way down his spine. ‘Is DS Jain back, do you know?’

  ‘The wee Indian bird?’ Keith didn’t take his eyes off the car, his fingers tracing the dent on i
ts back. ‘Signed the Mondeo back in. Said she’s away to interview someone?’

  Hunter opened the interview room door and looked around.

  Jain was sitting on the near side of the table. ‘Please state your name for the record.’

  Gaynor Tait looked up from her examination of the interview room table and focused on Hunter. ‘Gaynor Laura Tait.’

  Jain didn’t even nod, just acted like a sulking teenager. All that was missing was a smiley-face Nirvana T-shirt. ‘For the tape, PC Craig Hunter has entered the room.’

  Hunter slouched into the chair next to her and tried to ignore his thumping chest. Feeling like a spare thumb here…

  Jain nodded at the lawyer next to Gaynor, a welt of acne in a pin-stripe suit scrawling on a yellow legal pad. ‘And you are?’

  ‘Alastair Reynolds.’ He didn’t look up from his note-taking. ‘I request you release my client this instant.’

  Who the hell are you to threaten us?

  Hunter glanced over at Jain.

  She was smirking at the lawyer. ‘That’s not going to happen. There are a number of questions your client needs to answer before we charge her.’

  ‘Charge? What with? She’s committed no crimes.’

  Jain focused on Gaynor. ‘Ms Tait, do you understand why you’re here?’

  ‘My client remains puzzled by the outrageous act of sending officers to her place of work to apprehend her in the car park – under the watch of her supervisor, other teachers and a large section of the school’s students.’

  Jain sat forward and rested on her elbows, ignoring the lawyer. ‘The reason we’re speaking to you, Ms Tait, is because you’ve been harbouring one Stephanie Ferguson.’

  Gaynor swallowed, keeping her eyes on the table. ‘Right.’

  ‘Do you acknowledge the fact?’

  Gaynor didn’t reply.

  ‘You’re not going to try telling us that she broke into your flat, are you?’

  Gaynor shook her head. ‘Stephanie told me her stepfather was abusing her. So I called her. She sounded like she was in a panic. Said she was worried her stepfather was going to kill her mother.’

  Hunter got in before Jain. ‘We spoke to you last night at Olivia Pearce’s house. I asked you specifically about this.’