Craig Hunter Books 1-3

by Ed James

  ‘My mates are officers.’ Hunter gulped down more beer, burning his gut. ‘Not that they’re much better.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘Wondering if they knew them.’ Chantal sipped her wine. ‘You haven’t seen them since?’

  ‘No way. Not after he gave them what for!’ Kerry handed her a shot, then passed one to Hunter. ‘Anyway, drink up, boys and girls!’

  Hunter’s stomach lurched as he sniffed the booze. ‘Here goes. One, two, three.’ Over the shoulder again.

  Kerry washed hers back with some fizz, clearing her glass in one go. ‘Crazy stuff, that.’ She got up from Ricky’s lap and sat next to Chantal. ‘So, you got any plans while you’re over here?’

  Ricky leaned in close to Hunter, sickly Sambuca breath washing over his face. ‘She’s the love of my life.’ He sucked down half of his pint. ‘Me best mate, I swear. Hope you get something like that with your Paki bird.’

  Hunter sat back and folded his arms. ‘Come on, that’s not cool.’

  Ricky frowned. ‘What, she’s not a Paki?’

  ‘It’s not a nice word, is it?’

  ‘Right, yeah. Sorry.’ Ricky stared into the depths of his beer. ‘I don’t mean anything by it, mate. I’m just saying, I hope you’ve got something like what we’ve got with your bird, yeah?’

  Hunter looked over at Chantal, braying with laughter at something Kerry had said. ‘I think we might do. It’s still early days, but…’ He shrugged, unsure what he meant. ‘I love her.’

  ‘That’s all you need, mate.’ Ricky gripped his shoulder tight, like he was trying to compress it into diamond. ‘All you need.’ He finished his pint, leaving a thin layer of slop at the bottom. ‘Right, come on, you bitch, let’s get back to our room.’

  Kerry looked over. ‘What did you say, you wanker?’

  ‘I said, let’s get back to our room, you bitch.’ Ricky got up and stretched out so his T-shirt rode up. His stomach was criss-crossed with scars. Knife wounds. ‘It’s your birthday, you daft cow.’ He gave her a dirty leer. ‘Don’t want you getting smashed before I get the chance to smash your back doors in, do I?’

  ‘You mean, you still want to be able to get it up?’

  ‘You cheeky bitch. I’ve got three Viagra with me’ Ricky bellowed with laughter and grabbed Hunter’s shoulder like it was a walking stick. ‘Come on, then.’

  ‘Right. You can have the rest of this.’ Kerry chinked a fake nail off the wine bottle. She necked her glass and got up. Then she leaned in and whispered something to Chantal, before planting a kiss on Ricky’s cheek. ‘Come on, Rambo.’

  Ricky put an arm around her waist then set off. ‘See you, Craig. See you, Charmaine.’

  ‘She’s called Sharon, you daft sod.’ Kerry shook her head as they walked deep into the bar, heading for reception.

  Chantal pushed her glass away and collapsed back into her chair with a groan. ‘Oh, thank God that’s over.’

  Hunter surveyed the carnage. A pint and a half and two-thirds of a bottle of wine left. So many empties. ‘You okay?’

  ‘I feel like I’m going to be sick.’

  ‘You sure?’

  She winked at him. ‘I’ll be fine as long as you hold my hair.’

  Hunter pushed his beer into the middle of the table and waved over at the dregs of the hen party, just two older women flirting with two middle-aged men. ‘So, Mrs Bond, did you get anything from your mission?’

  ‘Alcohol poisoning.’ Chantal yawned. ‘You?’

  ‘Lover man had a run-in with some fake squaddies.’ Hunter peered around to see Kerry pinching Ricky’s arse through his shorts as they walked away. ‘Only, they weren’t fake. It was Tulloch and his mates.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Pretty sure.’

  The barman appeared, looking harassed and tired. ‘Thank God happy hour is over.’

  ‘Like that every day?’

  ‘This is quiet compared to most.’ The barman arranged the drinks on a tray. ‘Listen, can I see that photo again?’

  Hunter frowned as he got out his mobile. His heart started thumping that little bit harder than when he was dealing with Ricky. He held it up. ‘You recognise him?’

  ‘I remember. He kicked up a stink about a bottle of spirits last night. Your friend? His name is Sean Tulloch, yes?’

  Hunter held Chantal’s hand as they walked, warm and tight in his grip. The sun felt too bright, the cars too fast. ‘I hate lunchtime drinking.’

  She gave his hand a squeeze. ‘I love it.’

  ‘Not when we’re supposed to be working, though.’ Hunter checked both ways down the side street. Two, three, four, five times. ‘Come on.’ He led her across.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  Hunter stopped on the other side and burped into his hand. ‘Bloody lager.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Right, I’m putting two and two together, so bear with me. The barman identified Tulloch. Ricky and Kerry were drinking with squaddies called Sean and Matty.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘They came up this way for a drink.’

  The road curved around to the left, climbing the hill. No sign of any bars on the way up so far. A fat man marched out of a chemist’s on the right, lugging a wheeled suitcase behind him. A condom machine was mounted on the outside wall. Over the road, a row of bars sat back from the road, the distance filled with empty patio.

  The beer swilling in his guts, the booze in his veins surging to his brain.

  She marched off towards the first bar.

  ‘Chantal!’ Hunter grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

  A lorry trundled past, rattling the concrete beneath their feet.

  ‘Remember how pissed you are.’

  29

  CHANTAL

  * * *

  Chantal swayed up the street, adrenaline fighting with the booze in her guts. Those shots on a mostly empty stomach. Stupid.

  The bar seemed to be called CHEAP AND CHEERFUL. And it looked anything but cheerful. A two-storey affair with a large veranda in the shade. Deep house music boomed from inside, the sheer volume undoing any chill in the sounds.

  Chantal pushed through the door and clicked across to sit on a stool. She leaned against the bar, using it to steady herself.

  Hunter joined her, perching on an adjacent stool. Felt as pissed as she looked.

  A barman stood in the doorway to the back room, rubbing a towel deep into a yard glass, a long tube shrinking from a pint-sized opening to a narrow stem, ending in a ball. ‘Luisa!’

  A woman appeared from the far side of the pub and walked across. The light from the floor-to-ceiling windows silhouetted her tiny frame, barely five foot, but black-coffee-and-cigarettes skinny. She flipped the bar up and went to the other side. Seemed to take a week inspecting them. Her olive skin was almost as dark as Chantal’s, just a few shades lighter. Her dark black hair was tied back, darker than her blouse and trousers. She nodded at them then turned the music down. ‘Afternoon. What can I get you?’ Her Portuguese accent was cut with Essex, could almost taste the Thames estuary on the air.

  Chantal leaned forward and yawned into her hand. ‘Do you do coffee?’

  ‘You name it, love.’ Luisa pointed at a menu. ‘Americano, latté, Nescafé.’

  ‘Two Americanos, please. Not too much water in mine.’

  ‘You got it.’ Luisa turned round and fiddled with knobs on the hulking coffee machine. It started hissing and growling.

  Behind her, the barman rested the yard down on the back wall and eyed them like they were going to rob the till.

  Chantal’s yawn widened as her eyes closed. ‘God, I’m so pissed.’

  Hunter frowned. ‘But I saw you tossing the shots?’

  ‘Not all of them.’ Chantal drummed her fingers on the bar. ‘That couple are lunatics.’

  ‘Seen their type so many times.’ Hunter caught her yawn, covering his mouth with a fist. ‘Marry at sixteen, seventeen, have kids by twenty, then they’re stuck into that life.
Guy must’ve enlisted in his teens and he’s still a Corporal. Cannon fodder.’

  Luisa passed a steaming mug of coffee to Chantal. Dark, thick liquid halfway up the sides. Then she put a small metal jug of milk next to her mug. The coffee smelled bitter, like…

  Chantal swallowed hard. No, it didn’t.

  ‘Thanks.’ She tipped the milk in and reached into her bag for her phone. ‘Wondering if you could help us.’

  Luisa rested Hunter’s coffee down in front of him, frowning.

  ‘We’re police officers from Scotland.’

  Luisa refilled the milk from a UHT carton. ‘So, I don’t have to help you, right?’

  ‘Your funeral.’

  ‘Listen, I told the other lot who came in, I saw what I saw. I don’t know anything else?’

  The barman was scowling at Luisa, but she couldn’t see him.

  Chantal wrapped her hands around the hot coffee. ‘But you saw something.’

  ‘This kid with a guy. Walking down the promenade from the old town.’

  What? Chantal frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Harry Jack.’ Luisa’s gaze shot between them. ‘That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?’

  Chantal shook her head. ‘Something else.’

  The barman got between them. ‘Luisa, can you check the ladies’ toilet has been cleaned?’

  Her forehead knotted then she set off across the bar.

  Chantal smiled at the barman. ‘Why did you stop her talking to us?’

  ‘We’ve had enough of that today. Bad for business.’

  ‘There’s a child missing.’

  ‘I know, but Luisa only saw something. She’s not involved. Listen, if people think children disappear here, nobody comes. Is bad for business.’

  ‘Can you help us, then?’

  ‘What with?’

  Chantal got out her phone and flashed up a photo of Sean Tulloch. ‘Have you seen this guy?’

  The barman shifted his glare between them but didn’t speak.

  Chantal put a fifty euro note on the bar.

  He couldn’t take his eyes off the cash.

  Chantal took a sip of coffee. Tasted rank, but it might lead back to sobriety. Or gut rot. She snatched up the money before the barman took it.

  ‘Last night. He was in here.’ The barman rested against the other side, fingers splayed on the dark fake granite. ‘We had karaoke.’

  ‘What time was this?’

  ‘Be about eleven, maybe midnight?’

  Hunter’s nod confirmed her thinking — it tallied with the story so far.

  Tulloch flew out from Edinburgh, landed at the back of eight. Taxi over here, out on the sauce in the hotel, where Ricky threatened him. Then up here to sample the nearby bars.

  Chantal focused on the barman again and pointed at the photo. ‘It was this man?’

  ‘He did a song. It was…’ The barman clapped his hands together. ‘Come, I show you.’ He lifted up the bar partition and smiled. ‘My name is José.’

  ‘Chantal and Craig.’ She grabbed her coffee and got to her feet.

  José led them through to the back room, stacked floor-to-ceiling with bottles of beer on one side, wine on the other, a thin column of spirits in the middle.

  José pointed at a greyscale monitor, the screen split in four. One display showed outside, two of the bar area, one by the toilets. Luisa shook her head as she mopped at something. Hunter’s back was visible at the bar in another shot.

  José grabbed a remote and wound the footage back to 23:00 the previous night. The place was jumping, every table full. A load of drinkers, laughing and joking. José was working the bar with two women and another two men, tossing bottles around like they were in that shitty Tom Cruise film.

  The bottom left screen showed a stage area near the back, where a girl bellowed into a microphone. Then Sean Tulloch stepped across the veranda outside.

  Chantal waved at José. ‘Freeze.’

  He rewound back until Tulloch was halfway over. Tall and big, grinning like the devil at the crossroads, offering a sweet deal for your soul. He was next to a mate, similarly sized, laughing at something.

  Chantal tapped at the screen. ‘Can you print it?’

  ‘Of course.’ José hit a button on the keyboard and a printer started grinding up behind the beer stack.

  ‘Thanks.’ Chantal rested against the first pillar of wine. ‘Play it on.’

  ‘Okay.’ Tulloch and his mates entered in fast forward. One of them went to the bar and chatted to Luisa, seemed to go on for a few minutes. In the foreground, Tulloch and the other lump were scanning the room. He started speaking to a woman wearing a bridal veil, getting a laugh from her, head thrown back. Then she slapped him. Tulloch spat at her then walked across the room towards the karaoke guy, a middle-aged man in a bright shirt and waistcoat. He leaned in and spoke to him, getting a nod in response.

  A few seconds later, the woman gave the mic back and Tulloch snatched it out of the karaoke guy’s hands. He jabbed a finger in karaoke guy’s face and got an open-palmed gesture back. Then Tulloch started singing something, his mates at the bar laughing.

  Chantal tapped a nail on the screen. ‘What was he singing?’

  José clicked his fingers a few times then jabbed his finger in the air. ‘Hall and Oates? “The Private Eyes”?’

  ‘Guy’s got taste.’ Chantal shook her head at him then at the monitor. ‘Oh God.’

  On the screen, Tulloch had pulled his trousers down and was waving his penis around.

  Chantal’s eyes bulged. ‘Well, that’s a big one, alright.’

  José rolled his eyes at her. ‘I’ve seen bigger.’

  The three barmen, including José, raced across to the stage, one of them pushing Tulloch over. He tried to fight but stumbled. Out of his box.

  José hauled him to his feet and escorted him out of the front of the bar. He pulled Tulloch’s trousers up and helped him with his belt.

  ‘I had to help him.’

  ‘Bet you did.’ Chantal grabbed the controls and wound it forward.

  Tulloch’s mates necked their shots and left the bar. José stayed with Tulloch, stopping him getting back in.

  Hunter cleared his throat. ‘What were you saying to him?’

  ‘He was talking about his girlfriend. She likes the big cock, he said.’

  ‘That was it?’

  José flicked his eyebrows. ‘That was it.’

  ‘Do you know where they went?’

  ‘Sorry.’ José reached down to a printer and handed Chantal prints of Tulloch and his mates. ‘This is all I have.’

  Chantal smiled as she took the pages and gave him the fifty. She didn’t let go and gave him a business card. ‘You call me if he comes back, okay?’

  Chantal strolled across the bar. A couple were sitting in the window now, smiling as they sipped at sparkling white wine.

  Luisa was leaning against the door, arms folded. She took Chantal’s empty coffee cup, her lip curled. ‘Did you get what you wanted?’

  Chantal nodded. ‘Why didn’t he want you talking to us?’

  ‘You heard him. It’s bad for business, isn’t it?’

  ‘That child was kidnapped in England?’

  ‘So? You think he knows anything but where his next blow job’s coming from?’ Luisa scowled over at the bar.

  Chantal unfolded the printed pages and pointed at the photo of a big thug talking to Luisa. ‘Looks like you know this man.’

  Luisa smiled at the photo. ‘He had a thick accent. I couldn’t understand it. He was after a Crazy Vimto, but I didn’t know what it was.’

  ‘Did you get him one?’

  Luisa shook her head. ‘Port and vodka added to a bottle of blue WKD.’

  30

  HUNTER

  * * *

  Hunter walked down the road, hands in pockets rubbing against his keycard. The street leading down to the hotel was quiet, just an idling taxi belching out fumes. The sun beat down hard,
like it was begging forgiveness for all the earlier rain, light flaring across the sea, dappling in the afternoon sky. No clouds, just the deepest blue.

  A few girls sat in one of the gardens lining the road, stretching out on the lawns as they passed around a bottle of vodka.

  The vaguest whiff of weed on the breeze, mixing with coffee and food smells. Mostly cheese and herbs, the tang of tomato sauce. No meat, thank God.

  Hunter stopped on the corner heading towards their apartment. ‘What exactly did you mean about Tulloch’s cock?’

  Chantal gave him that look, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. ‘You saw it, right?’

  ‘It?’ Hunter sighed as a coach pulled past them. ‘Looked like two to me.’

  ‘You need to stop worrying, okay?’ She laughed as she stroked his arm. ‘I know what I like, Craig. I’ve had a huge guy before and it’s not much fun, believe me.’

  A huge guy?

  Hunter scowled at her. ‘Look, it’s—’

  The bus hissed to a stop over by the entrance. A gang of pissed blokes started jumping out, roaring with laughter and shouting at each other. Big lads. Bloody squaddies.

  ‘Hold that cock.’ Hunter squinted at one of them. ‘I meant “thought”.’ Wonky ears, dead eyes. He got out his phone and checked the photos Elvis had sent over. ‘That guy looks very much like Gordon Brownlee.’

  Chantal frowned over. ‘Tulloch’s mate?’

  ‘Certainly matches the description.’ Hunter flicked through the rest of them. ‘No sign of Tulloch, though.’ He put his mobile away. ‘Want to have a wander over and chance it?’

  ‘Got a better idea.’

  31

  CHANTAL

  * * *

  Chantal marched over to the apartments lining the road and stopped by the second from last. Four girls lay on the grass, groaning as they sipped wine from teacups. ‘Bekah, how’s it going?’