Craig Hunter Books 1-3

by Ed James

  Not the time to argue.

  Chantal sat at the desk. Everything ached. ‘Are those girls okay?’

  ‘They’re on the way to the hospital.’

  ‘My partner, Craig Hunter. Do you know where he is?’

  ‘I can’t say.’

  ‘Have you got him?’

  ‘That’s not for me to say.’ She shut the door and left Chantal alone.

  This is a disaster. Where the hell is Craig?

  Tulloch is at large. Has Craig caught him? Has Tulloch got Craig?

  And no sign of Matty or the other big lump. Three against one… Craig would be heavily outgunned.

  The only good thing is stopping Tulloch raping someone. Focus on Nora and Siobhan. Watch what you drink, girls. Trust will cost you dear…

  She dialled Hunter’s phone. Still nothing, just voicemail. ‘Craig, I’m at the station. Call me when you hear this.’ She started tapping a message to Sharon:

  TROUBLE BREWING HERE. CALL ME.

  The door clicked open and she looked up. DI Jon Bruce walked in, a cheeky grin on his face. ‘Evening.’

  Chantal slumped back. ‘Jon. What’s going on?’

  Bruce sat on the edge of the table, far too close to her. Brucie Boner, indeed. ‘I was in the area. Quaresma called me, told me I was needed here. So here I am. We were responding to a sighting on the Strip.’

  ‘Do you know where Craig is?’

  Bruce shook his head. ‘Didn’t even get the kid, either. Another false alarm.’ He adjusted his cufflinks, big spangly things. ‘Starting to doubt he’s still here.’

  ‘Think you’ll find him?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter what I think.’ Bruce shot her a wink. ‘Now, what trouble have you got yourself into?’

  She huffed out breath. ‘We found him, Jon. The guy we’re after. Spiking drinks, by the looks of it. She was in no position to consent.’

  ‘One of those cases, eh?’ Bruce got up and started pacing the room, just like he did when he gave a training course. Working up a flow, or whatever he called it. Looked so artificial. ‘From what I gather, your boyfriend’s in the shit.’

  ‘He’s not my boyfriend.’

  ‘Sure about that?’ Bruce’s eyebrow pinched up. ‘Sharing a room, aren’t you?’

  ‘Craig’s a gentleman. He’s on the sofa.’

  ‘Right, right.’ Bruce rubbed at the rogue eyebrow, like that was the only control he had over it. ‘All I know is Craig got into a scuffle with someone.’

  ‘Tulloch?’

  ‘No idea, Chantal. Way Quaresma said it, he’ll get done for fighting. Affray or God knows what they call it here. Maybe breach of the peace.’

  ‘He was doing his job.’

  ‘Not sure our mutual friend sees it that way.’

  ‘He can take a running—’

  ‘Here we go.’ Bruce moved over to the window and sat against the sill.

  The door opened and Quaresma stepped inside. Hunter followed him in, his head low.

  ‘Craig!’ Chantal wanted to wrap him in a hug but stayed sitting. ‘Are you okay?’

  Quaresma clapped Hunter’s shoulder. ‘He is fine.’ He sat behind the desk and shrugged off his long jacket. ‘But this is my country and you two keep on popping up.’

  Chantal narrowed her eyes at Quaresma. ‘We had Tulloch.’

  ‘By breaching protocol.’ Quaresma undid his tie and loosened it off. ‘We had an agreement.’ He pointed a bony finger at her. ‘You were told to wait.’

  ‘We called you and—’

  ‘Sergeant.’ Quaresma gripped the edge of the desk, his eyebrow cocked. ‘I told you no! Tomorrow, yes?’ He left a pause, but she wasn’t going to fill it. ‘You’ve ruined our operation! People like you—’

  ‘People like me?’ Chantal tilted her head to the side. ‘You want to be careful what you’re saying.’ She nodded over at Bruce in the window. ‘You’ve got witnesses here.’

  ‘I don’t mean the colour of your skin or wherever you’re from, Sergeant.’ Quaresma lowered his head, shrouding his eyes under heavy brows. ‘I mean the attitude you’ve been raised with. You Brits think you can steamroller in here and do whatever you want, like you own the place.’

  ‘You know what happened in that bar, right?’ Chantal sat back in her seat, arms folded. ‘Sean Tulloch spiked that girl’s drinks. He was going to rape her.’

  ‘And those girls are now in hospital, where they are being looked after at my government’s expense.’

  ‘I think you’ll find that our government pays your country for that.’ Chantal scowled at him. ‘But it would be better if you had someone in custody for it, wouldn’t it?’

  Quaresma held her gaze, rubbing his fingers together, then glanced over at Bruce. ‘We’re going have to let Richard Smith go.’

  Hunter frowned at him. ‘Who?’

  ‘The man you attacked on the street? The man you attacked at your hotel?’

  ‘What?’ Hunter raised his hands in the air. ‘Why are you letting him go?’

  ‘Because you assaulted him, Mr Hunter.’

  ‘He attacked me when I was—’

  ‘Mr Hunter!’

  ‘—to arrest a suspect in multiple—’

  ‘Mr Hunter!’

  ‘—which you don’t seem to be bothered to do anything—’

  ‘ENOUGH!’ Quaresma’s voice rattled around the small room. He pulled out a sheet of paper and jotted a note on it. ‘I have to keep reminding you whose soil you’re on.’

  Chantal got between them, waving her hands to try and calm the situation. ‘Look, Craig and I prevented Tulloch raping that girl.’

  Quaresma gave them mock applause. ‘Well done.’

  What the hell is he playing at? ‘You are going to arrest him, right?’

  ‘Sergeant, you need to learn to keep your hands to yourself. Especially when you’re in someone else’s country.’

  ‘He tried to rape one of those girls.’

  ‘I see it happen every night here. What can I do?’

  ‘You can start by arresting him.’

  ‘This is my country!’ Quaresma thumped his desk, eyes drilling into Chantal. ‘I run this operation. Not you. Not him. Me. This is how we play it.’

  ‘Look, this is your chance to bring Tulloch in.’

  ‘We agreed to meet tomorrow morning.’ Quaresma dropped his pen on the desk. ‘Given your inability to understand time and instructions, perhaps I will keep you here overnight? Nice comfortable cell for two, ah?’

  Bruce cleared his throat and waited for Quaresma to look over again. ‘João, let them go.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘We’ve got to get on with investigating that sighting of Harry.’ Bruce gave a slow sigh. ‘You agree with that, right?’

  Quaresma sat back in his chair and snorted. ‘Fine.’ He jabbed a finger at Chantal then Hunter. ‘We’re going to be busy all night. I shall meet you at two o’clock tomorrow. Here. No deviation from that, okay?’

  Second-class citizens…

  ‘Okay, fine.’ Chantal scraped her chair across the tiles and got up. ‘Can we get a lift back to our hotel?’

  Quaresma shook his head, chuckling. ‘It’s only a few kilometres walk.’

  Hunter glowered at him. ‘This is taking the piss a bit.’

  ‘Listen, my friend, you’ve assaulted someone. Ricky is leaving the country. This is your last warning.’

  Chantal stomped along the side of the dual carriageway. ‘Are you sure it’s this way?’

  ‘Think so.’ Hunter checked his phone again. ‘Still looks like the right way. Should end up at the Strip. Might be able to get a cab from there.’

  ‘The Strip?’ Chantal stopped and stuck her hands on her hips. ‘Jesus, Craig.’

  ‘All roads seem to lead there.’ Hunter pocketed his mobile. ‘I could call Finlay.’

  ‘Don’t.’ She leaned against the wall of a house. ‘Bloody hell.’

  Hunter was still checking up and down the road, like that’d d
o anything. He looked over at her. ‘You want to talk about this?’

  She let her shoulders slump. ‘No.’

  ‘Sure?’

  A taxi whizzed towards them. Hunter held out a hand and got a shrug in response.

  Chantal sat on the kerb, her feet pressing down on the asphalt. ‘I lost you. I’d no idea what happened to you.’

  ‘I got seven shades of shite kicked out of me.’

  ‘You could’ve died, Craig.’

  ‘Takes a lot more—’

  ‘Shut up.’ She shook her head at him. ‘You can’t fight people all the time, you know? Especially three of them.’

  ‘It was only Tulloch. Ricky must’ve seen me and…’ He shrugged.

  ‘Craig, Tulloch’s bigger than you. At least as strong. You stupid bastard.’

  Another taxi flew past.

  ‘I don’t get what Quaresma’s playing at here.’

  ‘Craig.’

  ‘Look, sorry. But we did stop those girls being raped.’

  ‘As harsh as this sounds, I don’t give a shit about those girls if you’re lying dead somewhere.’

  He grinned. ‘So you do love me?’

  Prick. She looked away. ‘Piss off.’

  ‘Sorry. I… Look, I’ll try and keep the head, okay?’

  ‘No, you will keep the head.’ She wiped away a tear. ‘If you want me to commit to you, it cuts both ways. I almost shat myself with worry, Craig.’

  ‘Right.’ He looked lost. Another glance at a passing taxi then he looked back at her. ‘So, what are we going to do?’

  ‘Wait for Quaresma.’

  ‘Like I said, I don’t get him.’

  ‘He’s in a bad situation. No resources, trying to maintain law and order in the Wild West. Then the world’s press descends here looking for that kid.’

  ‘Along with your Geordie boyfriend.’

  She fixed him with a steely glare. ‘Craig…’

  ‘Sorry. But I know what you mean. Quaresma’s up against it. Maybe our agenda isn’t quite meshing with his.’

  Chantal leaned forward. ‘So, we go back to Scotland with our tails between our legs?’

  Hunter stared at her then he turned away. ‘I’m trying to be positive.’

  ‘I understand. It’s…’ She bit at her lip. ‘Craig, we’re… nowhere.’

  ‘Well, that’s great, because I’ve had the living shit kicked out of me and I’m glad my efforts have been so successful.’

  ‘Stop being a drama queen.’

  ‘Look, I’m black and blue all over.’ Hunter stood over her. ‘I narrowly avoided getting brained with a steel pipe.’

  She looked up at him again. ‘You okay?’

  ‘I’ll live.’ Hunter held out a hand and winched her up. She let him. ‘Look, Quaresma’s not going to help us, is he?’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘So, we need to track down Tulloch and bring him in when Quaresma’s ready.’

  Chantal took his hand. ‘Which is exactly what’s pissed him off.’

  ‘I’ll try and keep the martial arts to a minimum.’

  ‘Well, that’ll be a start.’ She almost laughed. Almost. ‘But, we’re back to square one. We’ve no idea where Tulloch is.’

  ‘Not quite.’ Hunter shrugged. ‘He’s staying at our hotel complex, right?’

  A taxi swung round the bend, its yellow light on.

  Hunter stepped out and flagged it down. ‘Someone’s got to have seen him.’

  49

  HUNTER

  * * *

  There was a light on in Ricky and Kerry’s apartment. No shouting or screaming.

  If that pipe had connected… Can’t believe Quaresma let the bastard go.

  Hunter huffed out a sigh. Jesus, just ignore them.

  They were in the small garden between apartment buildings.

  Chantal whisper-shouted at him. ‘I can hear something.’

  Hunter listened closely. Deadly quiet, except for a TV booming out from the far side of the quad. Traffic droned past. Could almost hear the bass-drum din of the Strip from here.

  But there was something weird. A sort of moaning sound.

  He frowned at her, not that she could see him in the darkness. ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s over there.’ Chantal pointed into the pitch black, right in the middle where the lights failed to cover. ‘Come on.’

  Hunter flashed on his phone’s torch. What the hell is it? A victim of Tulloch’s, moaning as she wakes up? Hotel security after Tulloch assaulted them?

  He shone a light on a patch of ground. Something moved, something fast. He stepped closer. It jumped towards him. He stumbled away. ‘What the hell is that?’

  Chantal squinted into the light then let out a groan of her own. ‘Frogs.’

  ‘Frogs?’

  ‘Yes, Craig. Frogs.’

  Looked like a spring, water pouring out at the top. Dark green foliage surrounded a tree. Tiny little frogs jumped up and down in a pool, making a hell of a racket this close up. ‘Well, that’s a result, I suppose.’

  Hunter switched off his torch. ‘What are we going to do, then?’

  Chantal shrugged. ‘Start again tomorrow.’ She looked over at the bar area. ‘Night cap?’

  ‘Night cap.’

  Hunter stared into the fizzing lager, the glass pretty much exactly half empty.

  ‘You okay?’ Chantal’s fingers were cupped around her glass, just a splodge of red at the bottom.

  Hunter took a swig. Still tastes like shite. Horrible stuff. ‘I saw that Ricky twat. Well, a light on in their room.’

  She grabbed his hands, her fingers warm and soft. ‘You stopped him murdering his wife.’

  ‘I merely delayed it.’ He broke his hands free. ‘It’s his fault Tulloch got away. He went after me with a length of pipe. If he’d cracked me over the head…’

  ‘Shite.’ Chantal shut her eyes and sighed. ‘Craig, you need to stop getting into those situations.’

  ‘You told me to go after Tulloch.’

  ‘Did I?’ She screwed up her eyes. ‘I’m sorry. Look, you almost got him.’

  ‘Almost got brained.’ Hunter battled through his revulsion and finished the beer in one long gulp. ‘I met my match. Tulloch does Krav Maga, too. And he’s got power behind all that… evil. We need to watch what we’re doing with him.’

  ‘What, so we let Quaresma deal with him?’

  ‘Of course.’ Hunter grabbed their glasses and got to his feet. ‘Right, one last drink before bed?’

  She gave a tiny nod.

  Hunter walked over to the bar. The place was quiet, just a crowd of older people winding down. He smiled at the barman. ‘Two glasses of whatever the red is.’

  ‘Rioja, my friend.’ The barman unscrewed a bottle and poured some wine into a waiting glass.

  Hunter nodded and leaned in close. ‘Has our friend been back?’

  The barman tipped the last of the wine in and reached behind him for a fresh bottle. He twisted the cap off and topped up Chantal’s glass. ‘Not tonight.’ He started pouring into Hunter’s. ‘A couple of his friends were in earlier, causing chaos.’

  ‘What sort of chaos?’

  ‘All the same shit as earlier. Dancing on the tables. Taking their tops off. The security man had a word with them and they left.’

  ‘Did you see where they went?’

  ‘Sadly not.’ He pushed the glasses over the bar. ‘Seven euro.’

  Hunter gave him a ten. ‘Keep an eye out for them, okay?’

  The barman gave him a nod.

  Hunter collected the glasses and headed back to the table. ‘Here you go.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She sniffed at her drink, frowning. ‘Look, I was thinking. This shit about us being in the closet. How much does it mean to you?’

  ‘At least as much as you. Why?’

  ‘Well… I don’t know. Back a few years ago, when Scott Cullen caught that serial killer… Well, he wasn’t really a serial killer, but the press said he was.�
� She nibbled at her bottom lip. ‘Scott and Sharon got together then. He ended up in hospital or something. Anyway, they started seeing each other. Two weeks later, they told their boss. Cullen got shifted to this total prick DS, I got shifted to Sharon.’

  ‘So you did well out of it?’

  Chantal shrugged. ‘I’ve got my sergeant stripes now.’

  ‘So, what are you saying?’

  ‘That, I don’t know.’ Another shrug, her lips and forehead twisted. ‘Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing. I could go back to the MIT, you could keep doing this.’

  ‘This is important to you, though, right?’

  ‘Of course it is.’ She wrapped her fingers round her glass. ‘What we do in this unit is important to me. You’re important to me. I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Well, we need another solution, then.’ Hunter took a sip. Peppery and sweeter than he expected. ‘Not bad.’

  ‘You drinking wine is a weird sight.’

  He took another sip, much better. ‘When I was fifteen, I used to down a couple of bottles to get pissed before we went out.’

  ‘Classy.’

  ‘I’m a proud Porty boy.’

  ‘Aye, and you haven’t changed.’ A big hand clapped him on the back. ‘You twat.’

  Finlay, gurning at them, his eyebrows dancing. Bloody hell.

  Hunter swivelled round to face him. How much had he heard? ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Passing through, thought I might find you here.’

  ‘Fin, I told you. There’s nothing for you.’

  ‘Get over yourself, Hunter. Took a lady out for dinner.’

  Chantal frowned at him. ‘Thought you were married?’

  ‘Aye, was.’ Finlay sat between them, twisting his car keys in his fingers. ‘Mary chucked me out a few years back. Took me to the cleaners, too. Just as well we didn’t have kids, I tell you.’

  ‘Can I get you a drink, Fin?’ Chantal took a sip of her wine. ‘Look like you need it?’

  ‘I’m driving.’