Craig Hunter Books 1-3

by Ed James

  Hunter was resting against the back wall of the interview room, standing behind Doug and Williams.

  McNeill waited for Jain to sit, then took her chair. ‘I gather you want to speak to us?’

  ‘Aye, I’ve got something that might interest you.’

  McNeill sighed and twisted round to grimace at Jain. ‘And here was me thinking you were going to change your mind and confess.’

  ‘It’s… Listen, have you spoken to her father about this?’

  Jain frowned at him. ‘Robert Quarrie?’

  ‘That stoat, aye. Have you spoken to him?’

  ‘We have and he has an alibi for the time when Stephanie disappeared last night.’

  ‘You told me that she went of her… What was it?’ Doug looked at his lawyer. ‘Own volition? Then you told us someone’s taken her this morning, right? Like abducted this time.’

  Hunter locked eyes with Jain across the table and saw his frown mirrored in her clenched jaw.

  Oh, what…

  ‘You’ve not spoken to him today, have you?’ Doug pounded a fist onto the table. ‘He’d be first on my list, not Davie bloody Boyle!’

  ‘He is on our action plan to speak to.’ McNeill didn’t look like even she believed her words. ‘If you’ve anything material to add…?’

  ‘Look, Steph’s father’s been sniffing around the house for the last few weeks, looking for her.’ Doug folded his arms across his chest. ‘Her mother kept it from me. Didn’t want me worrying, she said.’

  ‘That’s very kind of her, considering you weren’t shy of knocking lumps out of her.’

  ‘I…’ Doug broke off, eyes shut. ‘Look, I love Pauline.’

  ‘You’ll be speaking to a counsellor as part of your punishment, I suspect.’ Jain licked her lips, emotion drained from her face. ‘Do you know if her father managed to speak to Steph?’

  ‘Not that I know of.’

  ‘You expect us to believe that?’

  ‘What can I say? It’s the truth!’

  ‘Anything to back this up or are you just fishing here?’

  ‘Oh for God’s sake! Pauline told me the other night, all right? I was going to head round to that pub he’s working at and talk a bit of sense into him, if you know what I mean. Just never got the chance.’

  29

  Jain eased the pool Vectra down the hill towards the Cramond shore. Dark clouds were hanging low between the chimney stacks of the old fishing village, so low Jain was hunching her shoulders in the driver’s seat. Or maybe she was still uncomfortable about last night. ‘How’s it going with the checks?’

  ‘I’ll just see, Sarge.’ Hunter leaned back in the seat and stabbed at his Airwave. ‘PC Hunter to PC Finlay. Over.’

  The new fleece itched worse than the old one. God knows where they got them from or what they washed them in — asbestos?

  ‘Receiving.’

  ‘Have you or Elv— DC Gordon managed to get an extract of Stephanie’s mobile records?’

  ‘Just got it now, amigo.’ Finlay huffed down the line, like he’d been out running. ‘Nothing much on here, buster. I’ve got the house?’

  Hunter glanced round at Jain as she stopped the car outside the Almond Inn. ‘Surely not even Robert Quarrie could be stupid enough to call the house.’

  ‘I’ll check anyway. Tum tee tum…’

  Hunter stuck it on mute. ‘I swear that guy finds new ways to piss me off every bloody day.’

  Jain ran a hand through her hair. ‘I don’t like Doug Ferguson being out.’

  ‘Me neither. You didn’t put up much of a fight, though.’

  ‘I know when to push Shaz. That wasn’t one of the times.’ She checked her mobile and pocketed it pretty quickly. ‘He could be anywhere, doing anything.’

  The Airwave whistled out white noise. ‘Aye, Craig? You still there?’

  Hunter hit the mute button. ‘Aye, we’re here.’

  ‘Still nothing on an address for Robert Quarrie.’

  Hunter looked over at the pub. Have to brave Stevie Ingram again.

  The Airwave crackled. ‘Turns out she’s been receiving calls from the landline at the Almond Inn. That mean—’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said the Almond Inn. Are you stupid or something?’

  Hunter jabbed the end call button and let his seatbelt zip up. ‘Come on.’

  Steve Ingram’s face dropped as Hunter approached the bar. ‘Oh, here we go again.’ He rubbed his hands on his waiter’s apron and started polishing a glass.

  Hunter watched and waited. Let the man stew for a few moments. The place had that deep burnt smell you only got in really old buildings, like the soot had permeated the wood and stone. ‘Can we have a word with Mr Quarrie?’

  ‘I’m afraid he isn’t in work today.’

  ‘He’s your chef, though, right?’

  ‘Was, aye.’

  Hunter frowned at Jain. ‘You’ve sacked him?’

  ‘What else could I do after you told me about his … history?’ Ingram sprayed some Pledge on the bar and brushed at it with a cloth. ‘He’d lied to me. His application neglected to mention a previous employer being Her Majesty’s Pleasure. He said he worked at a hotel in Alloa, one that’s conveniently ceased trading…’

  ‘Have you confronted Mr Quarrie?’

  ‘We had words, aye.’ Ingram had one last go with the duster, then set it under the bar. ‘He said he didn’t do it, but I had to let him go. Nothing I could do.’ He raised his arms like a third-rate mime. ‘My hands are tied. Nobody lies to me. And besides, I’m not having him in here. We’ve got young kids staying here. I don’t want him … interfering with them, you know? Sick bastard. He’s lucky I didn’t cut his—’

  ‘You shouldn’t be saying that to us, sir.’

  ‘Aye, well. He’s a dirty bastard, but at least he’s gone. I gave him two days’ notice on his flat, too.’

  Hunter checked with Jain, her ice queen face back on, then at Ingram. ‘Was this today?’

  ‘This was last night. He waited around here after you went. I spoke to the police. They told me he’s on the register indefinitely.’

  ‘And did he put up much of a fight?’

  ‘Not really. It’s like he’d seen it all before. He just left, dirty tail between his legs.’

  Hunter felt like his veins were going to pop. He’s got Stephanie… Blood thundered in his ears, acid burnt in his gut. ‘Did he ever talk about his daughter?’

  ‘Aye, said he was trying to get in touch with her again. Bet she was disgusted with what he was put away for.’

  ‘It was her he was—’

  ‘Jesus H. Christ.’ The Pledge can took flight across the bar. ‘If I’d known that, he’d have had a steak knife in his—’

  ‘We understand he’d been using the phone here to call—’

  ‘What? He was noncing up his own daughter using my bloody phone?’

  ‘I need his address.’

  Jain stopped outside the block of flats and shook her head. ‘You see this?’

  ‘See what?’ Hunter looked around. ‘That these are way more expensive than a short-order cook could afford?’

  ‘I mean that.’ She pointed over the road at a lumbering new building, the sort of PFI monstrosity—

  ‘He’s staying opposite the bloody primary school.’

  Sick bastard. Hunter stared up at the block. ‘So the flat of a convicted child molester overlooks a bloody primary school?’ He checked for his baton. ‘Give me five minutes with him, Chantal, this is…’

  Jain gripped his wrist, much tighter than he expected. ‘Let’s just have a word with him. Okay?’

  Hunter tried to wriggle free, like being back in primary himself. ‘You don’t think he’s taken her?’

  ‘I don’t know what to think.’ Jain let go and paced over to the front door. She hit the buzzer for flat four. ‘An hour ago, I thought one of Doug Ferguson’s mates had taken her and he’s fooling us. Now, I just don’t know.’ She sighed
as the intercom hissed static. ‘Let’s just have a word and see where we’ve got to.’

  ‘Is he in?’ Hunter jabbed the button, catching her finger and shifting it onto the neighbour’s.

  ‘Ow.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Hello?’ A woman’s voice, slightly well-to-do. Typical Cramond.

  He crouched in front of the intercom. ‘This is the police. PC Craig Hunter and DS Chantal Jain.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘We’re looking for Robert Quarrie. Does he live here?’

  ‘I certainly think so, but I’m afraid he isn’t in.’

  ‘Well, we need—’

  The door buzzed open.

  Jain stormed up the stairs and around the bend. The sun shone off the grey flooring, almost blinding.

  The door for flat three was ajar. It shut when the eye settled on Hunter and his outstretched warrant card.

  Jain knocked on the door. ‘Mr Quarrie, it’s the police. Can you open up, please?’

  Nothing.

  Hunter sniffed the air. ‘Can you smell hash?’

  ‘Jesus Christ.’ Jain shook her head and leaned back against the wall. ‘And you call Cullen a cowboy.’

  ‘That was you.’ More sniffing. Definitely something like it. Strong and tangy. ‘Sure you can’t smell it?’

  Her perfect nostrils twitched. ‘Aye, maybe you’re right.’ She opened the letterbox and peered in. ‘Definitely skunk. Isn’t that a class A now?’

  ‘Still a B, I think. You should check with your mate, Cullen. Fourteen months leading the war against drugs, right?’

  ‘Craig. What do you want to do here?’

  Hunter nodded over at the door. ‘I want to batter that door down, then get in there and tie the bastard to a—’

  ‘You can do the battering and getting in.’

  ‘Fine.’ Hunter took a step back and launched himself shoulder first at the door.

  It didn’t budge.

  He slipped on the flooring and tumbled over, cracking his skull on the door. ‘Ah, you bastard.’

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I’ll live.’ Hunter got up on his knees and rubbed at his crown. A spatter of fresh blood ran across his fingers. ‘Terrific.’ He glowered at the door. ‘Right, once more with feeling.’ He took a step forward and kicked it just below the handle.

  The door toppled back and trundled over the floor.

  ‘Right, come on.’ He got his baton from his belt and snapped it out with a solid thunk, cautiously stepping onto the dark laminate.

  A long hall stretched into the flat, a few doors running off on either side. There was a light on behind the one at the end.

  ‘Stay here.’ Hunter inched forward, eating up the hall with each step, and nudged the first door.

  A tiny kitchen. Empty.

  The second door was a small bedroom, just a single bed stuck against the wall. Again, nothing.

  The third was locked and the fourth was a poky bathroom. The shower was bone dry.

  Hunter turned round and whisper-shouted: ‘Clear up to here.’

  Jain joined him by the final door, her own baton drawn. ‘You first.’

  ‘Right.’ Hunter slipped on a pair of blue nitrile gloves and twisted the brass handle, getting a squeak.

  The overhead light blazed out across the room. Beneath the window sill, a leather sofa was toppled over, the fake-silver feet sticking in the air. A pair of shoes poked out at the side.

  ‘Terrific.’ Hunter raced over and gripped the left-hand side. ‘Help!’

  ‘Give me a sec!’ Jain finished snapping on her own gloves. ‘Christ, man. Right.’ She crouched down and braced the other end.

  Hunter rocked his side back.

  Robert Quarrie lay face down on the carpet, a circular pool of blood under his head, like a morbid halo. A knife stuck out of his chest, hilt-deep.

  He coughed and moaned.

  ‘He’s not dead!’ Hunter jabbed at his Airwave. ‘Control, this is PC Hunter, requesting—’

  30

  Hunter stood in the living room doorway, his heart thundering in his ears.

  A pair of Paramedics stood over the body, prodding and pushing and frowning and scowling and—

  Giving up.

  The male one got up and drew a line across his throat. ‘We lost him.’

  Hunter collapsed against the door frame. ‘Did he say anything?’

  ‘Nothing at all, mate. Sorry. Far as I can tell, it was the stabbing. Guy’d lost a lot of blood before we even got here.’

  ‘Time of the attack?’

  ‘This is between you and me…’ He tossed his head from side-to-side. ‘Been about an hour, hour and a half, judging by the blood coagulation.’

  ‘That’s helpful, thanks.’

  ‘No worries. I’ll call Deeley.’

  Whoever the hell that is.

  ‘I’ll see what’s what downstairs, okay?’ Hunter gave him a final nod and barged past the female uniform guarding entry into the flat. ‘Make sure you keep it tight, Joanne, okay? We just lost him.’

  She grimaced. Looked like she’d been pulled straight out of a High School class. ‘Shite, eh?’

  Hunter trotted down the stairs and stopped halfway. He looked out through the windows, far across the dusky evening sky. Thick August clouds above the primary school, like they’d just come off the Atlantic Ocean. It was raining, the water pooling on the pavement like the blood in the living room.

  First time in a while. Years, even.

  Doesn’t get any easier, especially when the victim is still alive.

  A dead victim to go with the living one. Assuming Stephanie still is…

  Hunter started off down the corridor, teeth grinding together as he tasted the stale air. He grimaced at Jain, manning the crime scene entry point. ‘Lost him.’

  ‘Shite.’ She ran a hand through her hair, then waved at a passing uniformed officer. ‘Come here!’

  The guy was even younger than Joanne, looked like his voice probably hadn’t broken yet. ‘Sarge?’ Sounded like it, too.

  ‘Martin, you are a trained Crime Scene Manager, right?’ Jain handed him the clipboard. ‘You weren’t just trying to chat me up?’

  Hunter did a double take. Boy’s voice, but a man’s cojones from the sounds of it.

  The spotty oik gave her a nod. ‘Done it last week, Sarge.’

  ‘Good.’ Jain led Hunter over to their pool car and leaned against it, staring up at the sky. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Seen worse.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Maybe not.’ Hunter joined her leaning on the wet car, the rain already soaking through his fleece and T-shirt. ‘We almost had him. Can’t believe he’s gone.’

  An orange Focus roared out of the mouth of the lane and screeched to a halt just next to them. Sharon McNeill scowled out from behind the steering wheel. Lauren looked battered in the passenger side, twirling a stray spiral of blonde hair. When the car stopped rocking, they got out, their doors clicking at the same time.

  Jain stood up tall, dusting off her suit jacket, and drew a line across her neck. ‘Stabbing.’

  ‘Shite.’ McNeill scowled over at the block of flats, now cordoned off with police tape. ‘Chantal, I thought you said he was our number one?’

  ‘If I’m not wrong, someone’s got to him.’ Jain shrugged. ‘Either way, there’s no sign of the girl inside.’

  ‘That’s all we need.’

  ‘Good job securing this, though.’ Lauren looked around the crime scene again. ‘Buchan’s in with DCI Cargill just now. Should be here soon.’

  Hunter frowned. ‘Cargill’s MIT, isn’t she?’

  McNeill gave him a nod. ‘And this is an escalation. We’re not dealing with sexual assault or abuse any longer. What I want to know is who did it?’

  Hunter held her gaze. ‘Doug Ferguson wasn’t in custody.’

  ‘Okay. So let’s get hold of him and find out if he was here.’ McNeill frowned at him. ‘Why would he kill Mr Quarrie,
though?’

  Hunter stared up at the teeming sky, letting the heavy clouds add weight to his answer. ‘I can think of a good reason.’

  McNeill scowled at him, holding his gaze for a few seconds, then nodded at Lauren. ‘Sergeant, let’s have a look inside. Chantal, can you two get statements from any neighbours?’

  ‘Shaz, I’m a Sergeant.’

  ‘And I’m an Inspector. Off you go.’

  ‘Who does she think she is?’ Jain knocked on the door to flat one. ‘I mean, come on.’

  ‘You’re not still pissed off at having to do this, are you?’ Hunter grinned. ‘And you say I moan.’

  ‘Quit it—’

  The door thundered open. A man peered out and rubbed his eyes. ‘Ah, you bugger.’ He blinked hard and put a hand over his face. ‘Shite, shite, shite.’

  ‘Police.’ Hunter showed his warrant card. ‘Are you okay, sir?’

  ‘Aye. Had my eyes lasered a few days ago. Bloody agony.’ He sighed. ‘Still, I can see without glasses. Means I won’t have to fumble around for them when my kids wake us up at five in the morning.’

  ‘Sure it’ll be worth it.’ Hunter let his fists go, still couldn’t look at his eyes. ‘Can I ask your name, sir?’

  ‘Paul Vickers.’

  ‘Have you been home all day, Mr Vickers?’

  Vickers took his hands away from his eyes. Didn’t look that bad, just a bit raw, like he’d been out on the piss for a couple of days. ‘See this.’ He pulled up his eyelid. A cut ran across the top of his cornea, blood red against the baby blue.

  Jesus. Hunter’s gut clenched tight. ‘That looks sore.’

  ‘It’s nothing compared to about an hour after they did it. Still, didn’t feel anything during.’

  ‘So you’ve been here all day?’

  ‘Aye, aye.’

  Hunter folded his arms. ‘Did you see anyone enter the building at about three o’clock this afternoon?’

  Vickers frowned, blinking hard. ‘Now, did I?’

  ‘There was an attack upstairs.’

  Vickers swallowed, frowning. ‘What?’

  ‘Do you know Mr Quarrie?’

  ‘Had a beer with him a couple of months ago up at the Almond. Nice enough bloke.’ Vickers slumped back against his door and focused on the floor, rubbing at his temples. ‘Look, I don’t know if it’s anything, but I was out for a smoke at back of three. Saw a red car drive off.’