Craig Hunter Books 1-3

by Ed James

  Took Hunter a moment to remember he wasn’t in uniform. ‘Police, ma’am.’ He showed her his warrant card, felt like he was posing as a jaded FBI agent from some cheesy TV show. ‘We’re looking for your neighbour, Mr Boyle?’

  ‘I’ve not seen him for a couple of days.’ She slapped her hands together, half disappearing behind a cloud of dust. ‘What’s he done?’

  ‘We just need a word with him. Is it normal you’d not see him?’

  ‘Keeps himself to himself, ever since Nancy left him. That’s his wife. Ex-wife.’

  ‘Have you seen his car?’

  ‘Not since yesterday. I think.’

  ‘Okay, thanks for your time.’ Hunter handed her a card. ‘If he shows up, could you give me a call?’ He trudged back to the street and took another look at the Boyle house. Still no sign of life. ‘Well?’

  Jain stood by the squad car, a rust-red Volvo estate, and got out her Airwave. ‘Lauren, it’s Chantal. The car’s not here.’

  ‘That’s disappointing.’ Lauren paused for a few seconds. ‘Elvis is still drawing a blank on the ANPR. Meaning it’s still inside Edinburgh.’

  ‘Or he’s dumped it. And Stephanie.’ Jain swapped the handset to her other hand. ‘Listen, we’re in Mountcastle. We thought we’d pay the mother another visit. Tell Sharon, will you?’

  ‘Sure thing. Out.’

  Jain pocketed her Airwave. ‘Come on, then, driver boy.’

  ‘We thought, did we?’

  ‘Always make it sound like there’s a consensus behind your actions, Craig.’

  ‘Sounds like Donald Trump.’

  ‘The wisdom of Scott Cullen.’

  ‘I just think he’s an arsehole, that’s all.’ Hunter rubbed at his crown as he walked up the short drive. Still stung like a bastard. ‘Guy’s a total cowboy.’

  ‘I’m with you there.’ Jain knocked on the door and stood back.

  Hunter wished he could just leave his head alone, back to the heavy throb again.

  Feels like I’m falling apart. Need a new knee, a new leg and God knows what else… A Judge Dredd helmet wouldn’t go amiss.

  The Ferguson’s door slid open and Ailsa Crichton stepped out into the daylight. Smelled like someone had either burnt coffee, or she’d already smoked twenty cigarettes. ‘Have you found Steph?’

  ‘We need to speak to Mrs Ferguson.’ Hunter straightened up and showed his warrant card. ‘Is she in?’

  Ailsa took a few seconds to collect her thoughts, just staring into space. ‘So that’s how the police treat a lady these days.’ She led them inside and held the living room door open.

  Pauline sat on her armchair, fidgeting with a T-shirt draped over the girl’s laptop. Some rock band’s logo emblazoned on it. She looked up, dazed eyes struggling to focus on them, and started to blink away her fug.

  Neil Alexander stood in the kitchen doorway, having to stoop below the door frame. A frown danced across his forehead. ‘Have you found her?’

  ‘Good morning, sir.’ Jain took the seat next to Pauline and gave her a smile. ‘We’d like a word with Mrs— with Pauline in private. Is that okay?’

  ‘Come on, son. We know when we’re not wanted, eh?’ Ailsa barged Neil out of the room but stopped in the doorway. ‘Tea for the pair of you, isn’t it? Milk and no sugar, twice.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Hunter settled against the window frame and stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets, while Ailsa tugged the door shut behind her, leaving him and Jain alone with Pauline.

  Jain got out her notebook and pen, then stopped and frowned. ‘Has Mr Alexander been here long?’

  ‘Since, I don’t know, eight?’ Pauline picked up the T-shirt and started kneading it, like his cat milking her bed. ‘Ach, Neil’s a good laddie. Doug thought he was a dirty pervert when he started seeing Steph. Takes one to know one, I suppose.’ She braved the bitter irony with a broken smile. ‘But Neil just wants my girl to be happy. We’re on the same side.’

  ‘Is the Family Liaison Officer not here?’

  Pauline set the T-shirt down next to her on the sofa. ‘I sent him away. Laddie was making the place look untidy. Do I need him here?’

  ‘Not all the time, no.’ Jain finished writing something and smiled at Pauline. ‘Well, I’ll cut straight to it, then? PC Hunter managed to speak to Stephanie this morn—’

  ‘You’ve found her?’ Pauline’s eyes darted between them. ‘Is she okay?’

  ‘We tracked her down to a house in Corstorphine, where she’d gone voluntarily.’ Jain bit her bottom lip, then twisted it into a smile. ‘Unfortunately, someone abducted her—’

  ‘What?’ Pauline slumped back and let the T-shirt fall to the floor. ‘You let her go?’

  Hunter leaned back against the window frame, getting a jolt as his crown tapped the glass where he didn’t expect it. ‘She was okay at half past eight this morning.’

  ‘But someone’s kidnapped her?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’ Hunter swallowed hard. Wished his throat wasn’t so dry. ‘We’re investigating a number of leads.’ He glanced at Jain, scribbling in her notebook. ‘Someone in a red Hyundai took Stephanie. Do you know a David Boyle?’

  ‘Aye, I do. Nasty piece of work.’ Pauline’s face screwed up into a snarl. ‘Cut from the same dirty cloth as my bloody husband.’

  Pieces starting to click together…

  Hunter blinked away a flash from Jain’s pen, caught in the slanting sunlight. ‘Have you had any contact with him recently?’

  ‘Last time would’ve been Saturday night, when he walked Doug home from Scottie’s. He was a bit … out of it.’

  ‘What about since Stephanie disappeared?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you have a number for him?’

  ‘Aye, just call the bar at Scottie’s. What kind of stupid question is that?’

  Jain locked eyes with Pauline. Teacups chinked in the background, punctuating the droning voices. ‘When we visited here last night, before you came home, there was a man in the garden. Do you have any idea who that could have been?’

  ‘None.’ Pauline shrugged. ‘Could be a friend of Doug’s. Might be worth asking him?’ Her glare was like nothing Hunter’d seen since Iraq. ‘He’s got more than a few cronies in that bloody pub.’

  ‘Have any of them been in touch?’

  ‘Not a single one. All standing by their man, as that sort do. Still like the Wild West in there.’

  Jain gave Hunter a warning look, eyebrows raised high. ‘Stephanie told us that Doug was beating you up.’

  The snarl deepened on Pauline’s face, new lines furrowing the tanned skin. ‘What?’

  ‘Was I not clear?’ Jain kept her face straight and left a long pause. ‘Has Mr Ferguson ever assaulted you?’

  ‘Are you lot trying to deflect the blame here?’ Spit hung from the corner of Pauline’s mouth, her gaze shifting between Jain and Hunter. ‘You’ve lost my daughter and now you’re trying to pin some shite on me?’

  ‘We’re not trying to pin anything on you. Your daughter was abducted and two officers were assaulted in the process. Mrs Ferguson, she told us that—’

  ‘Don’t. Call. Me. That!’

  Jain whistled out breath, her notebook splayed open in front of her. ‘So, you’re saying it’s untrue? That Stephanie was lying?’

  Pauline looked away and shut her eyes. Tears slid down her cheeks, quickly wiped away with the T-shirt.

  ‘Tell me it’s not true and that’ll be it.’

  Pauline raised her sleeve to the elbow. Above the ring of bruises on her wrist was a kidney-shaped bruise, yellowing round the edges. Covered most of her forearm.

  ‘How long has it been going on?’

  ‘A couple of years.’ Pauline nibbled at her top lip, her eyes still shut. ‘Doug’s business has been hard. He likes a drink. Most men do.’

  ‘That doesn’t make it okay to beat you up.’

  Pauline’s eyes opened, flaring at Jain. ‘He never touched Steph, okay? Not in that way.’ She cle
nched her jaws.

  ‘Stephanie told my colleague that Mr Ferguson has been abusing her for a while.’ Jain pocketed her notebook and raised an eyebrow at Hunter. ‘How could you not know this was going on in your house?’

  ‘Don’t you think I’m asking myself those questions?’

  Jain paused. ‘Your daughter is the subject of two separate cases of abuse. Are you sure that’s nothing to do with you?’

  ‘Are you saying I’m whoring her out?’ The fire in Pauline’s eyes was white hot. ‘How can you think that?’

  ‘I’m paid to do exactly that. I’m not suggesting you were “whoring your daughter out”, but you seem to attract this type of man.’

  The kettle started to whistle through the door.

  ‘What bloody type?’

  ‘Abusive men. Stephanie’s father and now Mr Ferguson.’

  Pauline staggered to her feet, weaving around like her morning coffee had come all the way from Ireland. ‘How dare you?’

  Jain stood up and stepped forward. ‘I’d like to get you on the record about the abuse you received at the hands—’

  ‘Find my daughter!’

  ‘—at the hands of Mr Ferguson over the last few years.’

  ‘Find my daughter!’

  ‘Will you consent to that?’

  ‘Leave.’ The fire in Pauline’s eyes had blinked out, the flames dowsed by tears. ‘I need you to leave!’

  The kitchen door slid open and Ailsa stomped into the room, teacups clattering behind her. ‘What the hell’s going on?’

  Jain held up a hand and got to her feet. ‘We’re just leaving.’

  ‘Aye, well, you could’ve told us before we’d made your bloody tea.’ Ailsa sighed and wandered over to Pauline, looking more like she was going to prod her with a poker than comfort her. ‘Oh, Pauline. What’ve they been saying?’

  Pauline hugged her tight, eyes clamped shut.

  Neil paced over to the living room door. ‘I’ll show you out.’

  Neil closed the front door and stepped out, his bare feet slapping on the concrete slabs.

  Hunter shared a look with Jain. ‘Just so’s you know, Mr Alexander, that sighting of her in Musselburgh last night didn’t pan out.’

  ‘Christ.’ Neil slumped against the wall, looking like he lost a few inches of height in the process. ‘I’m sorry about that.’

  ‘Why are you here, Mr Alexander?’

  ‘I’m trying to help.’

  ‘Sure it’s that?’

  ‘What?’ Neil rested his foot against the front door. ‘I’m just as scared as Pauline. Can’t focus on anything but what’s happened to Steph. She’s a beautiful thing and I want her to be happy. I just want to help bring that scumbag to justice.’

  ‘Where were you between eight and nine this morning?’

  ‘At my flat.’ Neil stared into the middle distance. ‘I called in sick today. All this stuff…’ He frowned at Hunter. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘We found Stephanie in Corstorphine. Well, Clermiston.’

  Neil’s mouth fell open. ‘Is she okay?’

  ‘She was. Someone attacked me and abducted her.’ Hunter let the news settle in, watching his eyes go blank. ‘You don’t know anything about it, do you?’

  ‘What? You think I took her?’

  ‘It’s crossed my mind.’

  ‘Look, I swear I don’t know anything. I haven’t heard from her since Sunday.’ Neil stared up at the greying sky, a wall of clouds weighing in from the west, then at Hunter. ‘I’ve been here since just after nine. I’m as worried as anyone.’

  Jain got between Neil and Hunter. ‘Mr Alexander, did Stephanie ever talk to you about Doug beating up Pauline?’

  Neil glanced over at her, his lank hair spraying out in a wide fan. He swallowed and rested against the side of the house, knocking off a chunk of roughcast. ‘She’d mentioned it.’

  ‘You never thought to go to the police?’

  ‘Listen. I tried to persuade Steph, but she said, if it came to nothing…’ Neil closed his eyes, like he was meditating, then gave a little shake of the head. ‘Can you imagine what Doug would do to them?’

  ‘Mr Alexander, I’ve seen what can happen if we don’t investigate.’ Jain stuck her hands on her hips. ‘The days of “dropping the charges” like in an episode of EastEnders are over. If a child is witnessing that sort of abuse, then we can prosecute, even if the mother — or father — isn’t willing to come forward. The Procurator Fiscal and the Crown want us to convict these monsters.’

  ‘I should’ve come forward. I’m sorry.’ Neil shuffled back onto the doorstep, towering above the pair of them. ‘It’s just… Steph’s fragile, you know? Like a porcelain doll. If I touch her when she’s not expecting it, she jumps as though I’d electrocuted her.’ He thumbed upstairs. ‘The only time I’ve been in her room, it was like I was with someone else. I didn’t recognise her.’ He balled up his fists. ‘That’s where it all happened, where Doug … forced himself on her.’

  ‘Even more reason to report this.’

  ‘I wanted to help Stephanie to do it. It’s what we were working towards. I just didn’t want to make her do it when she wasn’t ready yet. Didn’t want to see her shatter under the pressure. She’s suffered enough at the hands of domineering men.’

  Jain looked at him for a good few seconds, then took a business card out of her pocket. ‘Mr Alexander, I need you to report to Leith Walk to give a full statement, okay?’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Stephanie told you things. We need to get a crystal-clear picture of what they are. Shall we say two o’clock?’

  ‘‘I’ll need to go into work after that, but… Of course.’ Neil slunk back inside, slamming the door with more force than it needed.

  Jain scowled at the shaking glass. ‘What do you make of all that?’

  ‘He’s like Gandalf in that dwarf house.’ Hunter started walking back to the pool car. ‘Still don’t get him.’

  Jain stopped by the car and blushed, looking him up and down. ‘He creeps me out.’

  Hunter’s Airwave bleeped. ‘Sergeant Reid to PC Hunter.’

  He put it to his lips. ‘Receiving. Safe to speak.’

  ‘Craig, that Dave Boyle character’s turned up at Portobello nick.’

  25

  Hunter pulled past a queue of idling buses on Portobello High Street. In the distance, a new row of Miami-style flats had sprung up on the promenade where the amusements used to be. He trundled past the five-a-side pitches, a tribal battle between two sets of schoolkids breaking out.

  Angus’s tenth birthday party had been celebrated there, a frantic game of sixes. Truth be told, the boy had been lost among all the skill from his so-called mates… Already lost to the abuse from his cousin…

  Hunter pulled in outside the police station and got out. His mobile blared the nuclear bomb warning sound. ‘Buggery.’

  Jain stopped by the station’s back door and glowered at him. ‘What the hell’s that for?’

  ‘Letting me know I’ve got an interview in two hours.’ Hunter fished it out of his pocket and hit the cancel button. ‘There’s no way I’ll get to that on time. Terrific.’

  ‘What’s the interview for? That ADC position in the MIT?’

  ‘Might be.’

  ‘Want me to have a word with Shaz? See what I can do?’

  ‘Forget it, it’s a dead rubber anyway.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Positive.’ Hunter pushed the back door open. ‘Started working at this station, you know? Can’t believe they’re talking about killing this place.’ He swiped his warrant card through the reader and nodded at the desk Sergeant. ‘Shug, I gather you’ve got a Dave Boyle here?’

  ‘Boy’s through the back.’ Shug stared at Jain, just short of licking his lips. He cleared his throat. ‘Aye, laddie reported his car stolen.’ He tapped at his computer, squinting at the screen. ‘Red Hyundai.’

  ‘I don’t like this.’ Hunter stopped outside the inter
view room and turned to frown at Jain. ‘First, the car of one of Doug Ferguson’s mates is seen abducting Stephanie, then that same mate reports it stolen.’

  ‘You think he’s throwing us off the scent?’

  ‘Textbook.’

  ‘You want to lead?’

  ‘Just try stopping me.’ Hunter opened the door and stepped inside. Then back out again.

  ‘What’s up?’

  Hunter stabbed a finger at the guy sitting at the table. Medium height, dark hair in a centre parting, mouth hanging open like he was trying to catch flies. ‘That’s the guy from the Ferguson’s garden.’

  Jain’s eyes bulged. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure.’ Hunter charged into the room, taking the seat directly opposite Boyle. ‘Good morning, sir.’

  ‘Still morning, is it?’ Boyle looked up, slack-jawed as the day he was born. His teeth hadn’t seen much cleaning this century. ‘Been in here ages, man. What’s going on?’

  The good look Hunter got outside the Ferguson’s house had clearly only gone one way. That or the guy didn’t recognise him out of uniform. ‘Mr Boyle, my name is Craig Hunter and this is DS Chantal Jain. We’re working on a separate case we believe is connected to your car going missing.’

  ‘Woah. Hold on a minute, guys.’ Boyle raised his hands, his mouth flopping open even wider. ‘You trying to fit me up for something here?’

  ‘We just have a few questions for you.’ Hunter got his notebook out of his top pocket and opened it, taking his time to write down the date and each attendee’s full name. ‘We understand you know a Douglas Ferguson of Mountcastle Green.’

  Boyle stared at Jain, a nerve under his right eye twitching. Then he swallowed. ‘Doug’s a good guy. Why?’

  ‘You own a red Hyundai, correct?’