Craig Hunter Books 1-3

by Ed James

  ‘Right. Sorry.’

  ‘Wanted to see how you love birds were doing?’

  ‘We’re fine.’ Hunter narrowed his eyes. ‘And we’re not—’

  ‘I get it.’ Finlay gripped Hunter’s shoulder right where it bloody hurt. ‘Your secret’s safe with me.’ He tapped his nose.

  Chantal cleared her throat. ‘So, this date?’

  ‘Aye, not so good.’ Finlay ran a hand over his chin. ‘Maybe she thought the same about me, who knows?’ He got to his feet. ‘Look, if you need any help, I’m more than willing to step in, okay?’

  ‘It’s noted.’ Hunter raised his glass. ‘Safe drive back to Olhão.’

  ‘Aye, see you Chantal.’ Finlay waddled off, his straight-backed gait even worse than before.

  ‘What a guy.’

  ‘Sounds like he’s bored, Craig.’

  ‘Maybe he is. We can’t use him, though.’

  Day 3

  Saturday

  14th May

  50

  HUNTER

  * * *

  ‘Gnnnnaawwww.’

  Sunlight burst through Hunter’s eyelids.

  Head thumping. Mouth dry. Dying for a piss.

  Shite, how many did we have in the hotel bar last night?

  ‘Gnnnnaawwww.’

  Christ, what is that sound? Like a chainsaw.

  Hunter opened his eyes and turned over.

  Chantal faced him, her hair plastered across her face, naked. The duvet kicked off her side of the bed. She hissed in air then snored it out. ‘Gnnnnaawwww.’

  Hunter wiggled the mattress and she snorted a couple of times.

  ‘Gnnnnaawwww.’

  Bloody hell. This isn’t getting us anywhere.

  He got out of bed. His phone was plugged in by the kettle. Least I had the presence of mind to charge it. He grabbed it and padded through to the bathroom. As he pissed, he tried checking his messages. Not a bad job, either, all in the pan.

  10.04.

  How did it get to that time?

  Hunter sat on the lid. Didn’t flush in case that woke Chantal.

  ‘Gnnnnaawwww.’

  Nothing would wake Chantal.

  He flicked through the texts. Four from Finlay after him turning up in the bar. Desperate, much?

  One from Murray:

  CATS BOTH FINE. SUCH A CUTE COUPLE, ACTUALLY. LIKE YOU AND CHANTAL.

  There was a photo. Bubble had let Muffin sleep next to her on her giant bed, far too big for a skinny little cat. The poor boy lay on the edge, though.

  Hunter tapped out a reply:

  THANKS FOR DOING THAT. THEY LOOK HAPPY.

  The one person he’d trusted with the news. The one person not on the bloody job. His bloody brother.

  ‘Gnnnnaawwww.’

  A text flashed up. Elvis:

  LYING BASTARD! KNOW YOUR SHAGGING HER.

  Shite. Shite, balls, bastard.

  Hunter replied:

  THAT’S SHITE, MATE. WE’RE NOT.

  He sent it and sat back against the cistern, rattling the porcelain.

  ‘Gnnnnaawwww.’

  Here they were, able to act like the couple they were because of the cover, and it felt right. And they’d bloody blown it. Back to uniform. Back to—

  Bzzz.

  Another text from Elvis:

  QUIT LYING, DUDE. FIN TOLD ME.

  Shite on a hamster wheel. Bastard. Stupid bastard.

  Back to a squad car, chasing scumbags, responding to calls. Back to Steve and Dave. Fat Keith and his constant moans about his motor.

  ‘Gnnnn— Craig?’

  Do I tell her?

  Of course I tell her. This is our problem. Not mine, not hers. Ours.

  Hunter locked his phone and walked back through, his feet slapping off the cold tiles.

  Chantal was squinting at him, her hair sticking up at all angles. ‘What time is it?’

  Hunter knelt on the edge of the bed. ‘It’s gone ten.’

  She slumped back in the bed and dug her palms into her eyes sockets. ‘We’ve slept in. Great.’ She yawned. ‘Think it was that early flight yesterday?’

  ‘That or the amount of booze we put away.’ Hunter held up his phone, showing the picture of the cats. ‘See how well they’re getting on?’

  She smirked at it. ‘They look so cute. Poor Muffin.’

  ‘He’s about twice the size of Bubble.’

  ‘Like you and me.’ Chantal snuggled into him and he eased himself back down on the worst mattress in the world. She rested her head on his chest. ‘How much did we drink last night?’

  ‘Not much, in the end.’

  ‘Feels like a lot.’ She brushed her hair out of her face and yawned again. ‘Do you think Tulloch’s run off?’

  ‘Could’ve done.’ The curtains flapped in the breeze, giving a glimpse of the bright day outside. ‘Might still be here.’ He ran a hand through her hair, stopping when he got to a knot. ‘Chantal, I need to—’

  ‘So what’s the plan, Craig?’ She swatted his hand away. ‘We’ve got to meet your fan club at two. Right?’

  Hunter put his phone away and lay back on his pillow, pulling her in close. ‘Aye, but, look—’

  ‘We should try picking up Tulloch’s trail.’ She batted his chest. ‘Can’t believe you let me sleep in.’

  ‘Can’t believe you got leathered.’ Hunter kissed her forehead. She smelled of broken biscuits. ‘See this stuff about keeping us a secret?’

  ‘Shh.’ She put a finger to his lip. ‘I’m hungry. Time for food. And coffee. Then we’ll talk.’

  ‘This is serious.’ Hunter unlocked his mobile. ‘Finlay overheard us. He’s told Elvis.’

  51

  CHANTAL

  * * *

  Chantal slammed the door behind her and checked it was locked. Then again.

  Can’t believe we’ve been so bloody stupid. All that time, all that sneaking around, only for Finlay bloody Sinclair to find out. One careless moment and one of them was going to be booted away.

  Back to the MIT. Working with Cullen, working for Methven. Bain, Stuart Murray, Simon bloody Buxton.

  Hunter’s shoulder were slumping as he walked ahead of her.

  The MIT would be better than what was in store for him. They’d chucked him out before, weren’t likely to take him back.

  So it wasn’t a choice.

  She caught up with him and wrapped her hand round his, letting him lead her away. ‘Craig, look, I’ll take the heat, okay? I’ll go back to the MIT. You can stay.’

  ‘I appreciate it, but I don’t think we’ll get a say in it.’ Hunter couldn’t look at her as they climbed down the stairs. ‘How’s Sharon going to feel finding out from bloody Elvis?’

  Chantal stared at the marble, sparks of light bouncing off.

  He’s right. I should phone her. Now. Tell her. Come out and…

  What if he hadn’t told her? What if he wasn’t going to?

  She let go of his hand and sped up towards the staircase leading to the restaurant area, a long balcony above the bar.

  My head’s not in the game yet. I need to think this through.

  Too many variables. Too many things in play. What ifs like you wouldn’t believe, stacked on top of each other. Hard to figure out who knew what and who’d do what armed with that information.

  Hunter caught her by the bottom of the stairs, grabbing her hand. ‘Can we go somewhere else?’

  Chantal spun round and locked her arms across her chest, stretching her vest top at the sides. ‘What? I’m starving and I need coff—’

  Hunter glanced up the staircase. ‘The bacon?’

  ‘Isn’t it just cold meats and cheese and stuff?’

  Hunter’s nostrils twitched. ‘Well, someone’s cooking the cold meat, then.’

  She rolled her eyes and stared up at the sky. Well played, girl. ‘Right.’

  ‘Come on, Chantal. I don’t want—’

  She bounced down the step and kissed him on the lips. ‘It’s fine. We�
��ll go somewhere else.’ She grabbed his hand and led him away. ‘But you need to sort it out.’

  Hunter let go of her hand. ‘I just need to sort that pesky PTSD shite out?’ He shook his head at her, real anger in his eyes. ‘You’re pissed off because you can’t have your bloody coffee. If I have another flashback… I can’t believe you.’

  Chantal shut her eyes. Selfish bloody cow. This is when he’s at his lowest and you’re… Jesus.

  ‘Craig, I’m sorry.’ She pressed her thumb against his palm, caressing it. ‘You’ll manage. Okay? I’ll help you.’ She stopped on the slabs in the full morning glare. ‘And I’m being a total cow. I’m sorry. This shite with Elvis is doing my head in.’

  He pulled her tight. ‘It’ll be alright.’

  She pushed her head into his chest. He tightened the hug around her. She looked up at him. ‘Do you think I should call—’

  ‘Excuse me?’ A woman stepped down the staircase, frowning at them. Blonde hair tied back tight. One of the girls Tulloch and Matty were forcing themselves on in that club. Nora, was it? She shivered in the sunshine. ‘Chantal, isn’t it?’

  ‘Hi, Nora. Are you okay?’

  ‘Breakfast has stopped serving, by the way.’ She thumbed behind her. ‘One of the bars up there serves a fry-up all day. That’s where I’m heading.’ She narrowed her eyes at them. ‘You were in the club last night, weren’t you?’

  ‘Someone was spiking your drinks. I helped you.’

  ‘Right.’ Nora’s shoulders collapsed back. ‘Did you catch him, then?’

  ‘He got away.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘We’re doing all we can to catch him.’ Chantal rubbed Nora’s arm. ‘Did you go to hospital?’

  Nora nodded. ‘We got out at three.’ She flicked up her eyebrows. ‘I didn’t know why the hell I was there. The cops are useless out here.’ She nibbled at a painted nail, a crack forming in the purple sheen. ‘You’re cops, right?’

  ‘Edinburgh.’ Chantal coughed. ‘Well, Police Scotland, but yes. We’re cops. Sexual Offences Unit.’

  ‘Are you after one of those guys?’

  ‘Can’t really tell you that.’

  ‘Well, I hope you can’t really cut his balls off.’

  Chantal laughed and rubbed her arm again. ‘Did they get anything they can use?’

  ‘Wouldn’t tell us.’

  ‘Have you got the name of any local police officers?’

  ‘Elena something or other.’ Nora grabbed Chantal’s hand. ‘It’s the big one, isn’t it? Sean?’

  ‘I can’t say.’

  Nora tilted her head to the side. ‘Tell me. Please.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘You’re sorry?’ Nora screwed up her face and scowled at Hunter, then back at Chantal. ‘I…’ She nibbled at her bottom lip. ‘Look, are you after him or not?’

  Hunter stepped forward and craned his neck low. ‘We’re here to bring him in.’

  ‘What’s he done?’

  ‘He’s a serial abuser of women. His latest victim is in Edinburgh Royal Infirmary right now.’

  ‘Ah, shit.’ More nibbling as her face pinched tight. ‘Look, what he tried to do to us last night…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Come with me.’

  Nora put her keycard in the lock and it clicked open. She twisted the handle and stopped. ‘Shit, I don’t…’

  ‘Come on, Nora, it’s fine.’ Chantal leaned against the door frame. ‘We’re trained in this sort of thing. Okay?’

  ‘Okay.’ Nora opened the door and led inside.

  The apartment was bigger than theirs and faced due south, the sun belting in. One of the curtains was drawn across the patio door, shielding the room from the light. No signs of life.

  Nora sat on the bed and prodded a mound of duvet. ‘Heather?’

  Nothing.

  Nora nibbled at her lip. She shook her head and stabbed a finger into the mound. ‘Come on, you. Get up!’

  Nothing.

  She shook the duvet and pulled it off. Nobody was underneath. ‘Shite.’

  Chantal looked over at Hunter, looking as worried as she felt. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘I don’t…’ Nora rubbed at her face. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘No idea?’

  Nora shrugged. ‘I can’t think. Sorry.’

  ‘It’s natural if you’ve had your drink spiked.’ Chantal gave her some space, let her settle down. ‘Take us through this from the start. Who is Heather?’

  ‘She’s me cousin.’ Nora sniffed, couldn’t keep her focus away from the floor for longer than a second. ‘We’re here on another cousin’s hen weekend. Flew over here on Thursday night, typical first night blues. Got hammered on the flight over, then we hit the Strip. Last time I remember seeing Heather was her chatting to that big lad in the bar.’

  Hunter crouched down and showed her a CCTV screengrab. ‘Was it him?’

  ‘Sean…’ She caressed it then her face twisted into a snarl. ‘That’s him.’

  ‘And he raped her?’

  A slight nod of her head. ‘I think so.’ Nora went over to the sink and poured herself a glass of water. She downed it, liquid sluicing down her hand. ‘She’s… Look. She didn’t come out with us last night. Didn’t speak to me all day. I thought she was too hungover, but… Some of the girls got chatting to those lads again. Sean just started on me, you know? I thought he was lovely, but…’

  ‘But you think he raped her?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know, but I think so.’

  ‘Come on, Nora. You think so?’

  ‘She sort of said something, then she just stopped.’ Nora tapped something in her phone and set it down. ‘She clammed up. But…’ She refilled the glass and held it in front of her face. ‘Seeing you… It made me think.’

  Had enough of this.

  Chantal stepped over to the kitchen area. ‘Let me get this clear. You don’t have any idea whether she was attacked or not?’

  ‘All I know is, she was chatting to this Sean guy the other night.’ She put the glass down with a thud. ‘Then she’s in this state. I mean, come on. After what he tried to do to me and—’

  Her phone rattled on the counter. She picked it up. ‘I know where she is.’

  52

  HUNTER

  * * *

  Nora stood on the golden sand, her left hand shielding her eyes from the sun. ‘There she is!’ She started jogging towards a bridge leading to the sea. Metal handholds around wide wooden slats leading out to a pier. A woman sat halfway along, facing away from them, crouched down, rocking back and forth.

  Hunter set off after her, trudging across the dry sand, much slower than he’d like. He clambered over the walkway’s edge and slowed down as he approached.

  Nora stood over the woman, rubbing her shoulder. She smiled at Hunter. ‘Heather, these guys are cops.’

  Dark hair, her lined face was blurred by smudged make-up. She wore a skirt, her handbag lying next to some Ugg boots. She looked up at Hunter and scowled. ‘Nora!’

  ‘Heather.’ Nora flashed her a smile. ‘These guys are from Scotland. They’re looking for Sean.’

  Heather looked over at them, suspicion knotting her forehead.

  Hunter squatted down between the cousins, giving a warm smile. ‘Heather, can I get you anything?’

  She looked up at him, her eyes hiding behind her fringe. ‘Who the fuck are you?’

  ‘I know what’s happened to you.’

  ‘Do you? Do you really?’ Heather hauled herself up to standing. ‘How the fuck can you know what’s happened to me, eh?’

  ‘Your cousin told—’

  ‘Get the fuck away from me!’ Heather pushed Hunter.

  He stayed rock solid, still squatting. ‘It’s okay, we know how you feel. You need to express that anger.’

  ‘Get the fuck away from me!’

  ‘Look, I’m a police officer. We’re trying—’

  ‘Fuck off!’

  ‘—to arrest Sea
n Tulloch.’

  ‘Fuck off!’ Heather frowned at him. ‘You don’t say his name to me! Fuck off!’ She slapped him across the cheek.

  Stung hard, like she’d taken a couple of layers of skin off. He kept his hands at his side, tried to control his breathing. ‘Heather, we know you were drinking with Sean Tulloch on Thursday night.’

  ‘Fuck off!’ She stepped forward, one arm raised to slap again. Nora grabbed her arm, pulling it down to her side.

  ‘Did he buy you a drink?’

  Heather disappeared under her hands, hiding her face and her eyes from them. ‘I’m not fucking talking to any of you. Fuck off away from me!’ She reached down and grabbed her handbag. Only caught one of the handles. The contents spilled over the sandy boardwalk. ‘Oh, now look what you’ve fucking made me do!’ She bent down and started stuffing tampons, paracetamol and her purse back in the bag.

  Nora’s jaw clenched as she crouched down next to her. ‘Heather, he spiked my drink last night.’

  Heather looked up, frowning. Half the contents of her bag still lay on the sand. ‘He what?’

  ‘That Sean spiked mine and Siobhan’s drink.’ Nora thumbed at Heather. ‘After he raped you.’

  Heather collapsed back against the railings. ‘Nora, will you keep your fucking mouth shut?’

  Hunter crouched between them. ‘Heather, my name—’

  ‘Leave me the fuck alone!’ Heather shifted away from him. ‘Fuck off!’

  ‘My name is DC Craig Hunter.’ He got his warrant card out and held it to her. Her eyes widened as she looked at it. ‘And this is DS Chantal Jain. We work for Police Scotland’s Sexual Offences Unit.’ He took his ID back. Then he showed his phone, the photo of Tulloch on the screen. ‘This is the man you were drinking with, isn’t it?’

  ‘Heather!’ Nora snatched the phone off him and waved it in her cousin’s face. ‘This is Sean! He spiked my drink as well!’

  A tide of wind blew across the sand towards them, spiralling as it hit the walkway.