Craig Hunter Books 1-3

by Ed James

White light burst in Hunter’s eyes. White noise in his ears. He couldn’t breathe. Just pain. Everywhere. His stomach. His arse. His balls felt like lava. He doubled over on the pavement and spat out vomit. The smell of stale piss and beer, warm concrete against his cheek.

  A hand rested on Hunter’s side. ‘Christ, jabroni.’

  Hunter opened his eyes. Finlay. ‘Where is he?’

  Finlay helped Hunter up. ‘You okay?’

  Hunter leaned against Finlay’s car, sucking in deep breaths. Needles dug deep into his scrotum, felt like he’d pierced both bollocks. ‘Have you got him?’

  ‘I’m making sure you’re okay, dude.’

  Hunter cupped his balls. Couldn’t feel anything other than nuclear fire.

  Finlay got back into his car and tore off down the street.

  Hunter rolled to his knees and tried to stand up. Felt like his balls were in his stomach.

  Chantal was sitting by the side of the road, staring into space, dabbing at the back of her head. Her face was puffing up already, thickening around her left eye.

  He stepped over to her and held out a hand to help her up. ‘You okay?’

  She stumbled back against the wall, blood trickling down the back of her neck, dyeing her shirt. ‘Jesus.’

  Behind them, the bar staff were out on the veranda with a couple of punters, looking on.

  Finlay’s car was stopped at traffic lights, Tulloch’s army boots clopping away towards the beach.

  He’s getting away.

  Hunter waved the barman over. ‘Stay with her!’

  Hunter thundered along the street, his feet skidding on the downward slope. His balls were still on fire, but Tulloch wasn’t getting away.

  Not this time.

  A long coach turning left blocked the junction up ahead. Couldn’t see Tulloch or Finlay past it.

  He slipped between two idling cars and waited for a gap to open up in the oncoming traffic, to weave round the back of the coach.

  The street leading to the beach bent round at the end, where they’d walked back from the old town that afternoon. Tourists strolled hand in hand, pausing to frown back the way.

  Further down the street, Finlay’s Fiesta was pulled in by a backstreet strip bar, the neon sign dull in the daylight.

  A couple were peering inside.

  Hunter bombed over to the car and barged them out of the way. ‘Police!’ He checked inside.

  No sign of Tulloch or Finlay.

  Shite.

  He stood tall, hands on hips, searching the area. No sign of them. No sign of anyone except bloody tourists.

  No, wait. There.

  Finlay’s straight-backed run, weaving through a group of tourists towards the beach.

  ‘Finlay! Wait!’ Hunter pushed off from the car and started sprinting after him. ‘WAIT!’

  Crack.

  Hunter stumbled to the ground, his shoulder feeling like it’d been pulled right out of the socket. Pain flowered in his skull. He almost hit the parked cars. His forehead was on fire.

  What the—?

  Matty Ibbetson stood over him, swinging brass knuckles round his pinkie. ‘Alright, mate?’ He took a dirty suck on a cigar, then tossed it into the gutter with another twirl of the brass.

  Hunter touched his temple. Blood trickled over his fingers.

  Matty put the knucks back on and lashed out. Hunter blocked the blow with his hands. The metal dug into his flesh and tore his wrist open. A searing pain ran up his arms.

  Matty followed up with a boot to the side. Right where Tulloch had caught him earlier. Another kick in the ribs. ‘Keep him here!’ Then he was off, sprinting towards the beach.

  Hunter opened his eyes again and tried to push up to standing. A meaty paw battered him back down.

  Big Keith stood over him, brandishing a knife, the blade glinting in the sunlight. ‘Up you get, wanker.’

  Hunter pushed himself up to all fours. Then he brought himself slowly to his feet, hands raised. ‘You won’t get away with this.’

  ‘I don’t give a fuck.’ Keith lashed the knife towards him, half-arsed, teasing him. ‘I’m going to gut you like a fucking pig!’

  Hunter jumped forward and clapped both fists into Keith’s wrist. He gripped it with his left and swung his right fist round, punching through Keith’s jaw.

  Caught a tooth right in the open wound. Pain shot up his arm.

  He lashed out again, smacking Keith in the middle of his nose. And again. Then he stuck the head on and pushed him back against Finlay’s car. He grabbed him by the ears and rammed his head against the bonnet. Twice, three times.

  The giant tumbled over. Out cold.

  Hunter stood there, panting, fire burning his hands, his sides, his ribs. His balls. Blood covered his face.

  ‘No!’ A shout boomed out from the beach.

  ‘Shite.’ Hunter loped off towards the sound, blood pouring out of his wounds, filling his eye socket. He wiped it away and tried to sprint on, but his legs weren’t shifting fast enough.

  The path twisted across the rocks heading for the golden sand. No sign of anyone, just the shine off a pair of brass knuckles lying in a rock pool.

  Hunter slowed to a walk.

  The tide was pushing out, leaving a stretch of damp beach exposed to the sun.

  ‘No!’ The shout battered around the walls of rock.

  Hunter sped up but had to skid to a halt at a wide plateau a few steps down.

  Tulloch and Finlay were squaring up at the edge of the rocks. Tulloch was jerking forward, throwing fake punches and laughing. Toying with him.

  Finlay locked eyes with Hunter. He was heavily outgunned and he knew it.

  Matty roared towards them. Finlay saw it too late, twisting round as Matty barged into him. Finlay’s arms windmilled backwards across the rocks. He tripped and skidded. Then he disappeared off the side.

  Matty stumbled and fell to his knees, panting between barked laughter. ‘That’s how you fucking do it, mate!’

  Tulloch raced across the path towards the beach, Matty following him down.

  Hunter sprinted over and stopped at the edge.

  Finlay lay on his back on the sand, moaning, face covered in blood.

  77

  CHANTAL

  * * *

  Chantal leaned against the red Fiesta and rubbed at her head. Black blood still flecked off her fingers. She dialled Hunter’s number again. Still no answer.

  Where the hell are they?

  A few tourists gawped, hiding behind their hands. Some looked down from their balconies, shielding their eyes from the sun. Three dark-skinned girls stood outside the lap dancing bar, squinting at her.

  ‘NOOOOOO!’

  The scream came from round the bend. The beach.

  Chantal stumbled across the path towards the sound. No sign of Hunter. ‘Craig!’ She skittered over the paving until it became rocks. ‘Craig!’

  Two men ran along the wet sand away from her, chased by a small dog. A game of football was kicking off back towards the old town.

  Hunter was over by the edge of the cliffs, in a daze.

  ‘Craig!’ She bounced forward and grabbed hold of him, pulling him into a tight hug, away from the edge. ‘Come here!’

  Hunter settled into the hug. ‘He’s… Finlay…’

  ‘What?’ She let go. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Finlay! He’s killed him!’ Hunter swallowed hard. ‘He’s killed Finlay.’

  ‘What? Who has?’

  ‘Matty!’ Hunter looked around, confusion creasing his forehead. ‘Where’s Matty?’

  Chantal grabbed his shoulders and tried to get him to lock eyes with her. She shook him. ‘Where’s Finlay?’

  Hunter pointed down, off the rocks.

  She stepped over to the edge. Finlay lay on the rocks below, coughing and huffing, his cracked body contorted.

  ‘Go!’ Chantal put her phone to her ear and followed him down the path. It rang and rang.

  Some gritty Portuguese erupt
ed from the speaker. ‘Boa tarde.’

  ‘I need urgent medical attention to the Praia da Oura beach.’ Chantal dropped down the path to the sands. ‘We’re at the road leading from the street by the Hotel de Sousa to…’

  Hunter was kneeling next to Finlay.

  He coughed, spitting blood down his chin. Crimson soaked his shirt. He looked up at Hunter, his eyes struggling to focus. ‘Did we get him?’

  The paramedic nudged Hunter back but couldn’t sever the hand hold. ‘Let go!’

  Chantal tried to pull him back. but Hunter held on tighter. He can be a stubborn bastard.

  Finlay’s eyes were still open, swivelling around in his head. They closed again.

  Hunter slapped his face, making his eyes jerk open again. ‘We need to keep his eyes open.’

  The paramedic took a handful of Hunter’s T-shirt. ‘Sir, let go.’

  ‘Keep him alive!’

  ‘I’m trying, sir.’ The paramedic pushed the trolley towards the ambulance and started winching it up.

  Chantal wrapped her arms around Hunter, half in affection, half trying to control him. ‘He’s going to be okay…’ She worked her way round to cuddle him from the front, blocking his path to the ambulance. ‘This isn’t our battle anymore.’

  Hunter’s nostrils flared. Didn’t look under control. ‘He’s got to stay alive.’

  The ambulance’s back door slammed and the engine sparked into life.

  ‘We’ll get Matty for this.’

  ‘It’s not enough.’ Hunter collapsed into her embrace. ‘It’s nowhere near enough. If we’d had Ibbetson and Tulloch, Finlay would still be… would still…’ He rested his head on her shoulder. He touched the back of her head. ‘Shite. He got you as well, didn’t he?’

  She brushed his hand away. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Chantal rubbed at the back of her head. ‘He got lucky.’ The blue lights of the ambulance shone ahead of them.

  Hunter sighed and looked down at the blonde sand, already covered in dirty footprints. ‘We should’ve stopped this.’

  She grabbed his hand tight. ‘It’s not your fault.’

  ‘How isn’t it?’ Hunter shot her a glare. ‘Lightning striking twice… Of course this is my bloody fault.’

  Another grip of his hand, trying to send a pulse into it. ‘If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine. I’m the ranking officer at the crime scene. If anyone should’ve stopped what happened to Finlay, it’s me. Okay?’

  ‘I brought him into this, got him doing that PI shit. If wasn’t for me, he’d be drinking heavily somewhere…’ He swallowed again. ‘It should’ve been me.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It should’ve been me fighting them, not Finlay. I’m trained to. Fin wasn’t.’

  ‘They’re both big guys, Craig.’

  Hunter shrugged. ‘So am I.’

  ‘Craig, Tulloch got lucky. Two against one. His mate turned up and joined in.’

  Hunter’s head darted around. ‘Where’s Keith?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Keith attacked me. He had a knife.’

  Chantal followed his gaze. The tourists were giving statements to some local uniform. No sign of any of Tulloch’s crew. She grabbed his hand and pulsed it again. ‘They’ll catch Tulloch and Ibbetson. Quaresma will do them for what’s happened.’

  Fire burnt deep in his eyes. ‘We need to get Tulloch.’

  ‘Craig…’

  He’s right.

  But how?

  A lone figure stood in the blinding sunshine by a black Audi. Quaresma, smoothing down a stray spike of grey hair.

  ‘Come on.’ Chantal led him away from the flashing lights and the reversing ambulance.

  Quaresma raised his eyebrows at their approach. ‘Sergeant, this is not good.’

  Chantal jabbed a finger into his chest. ‘You should’ve kept Sean Tulloch in custody.’

  Quaresma grabbed her finger and swallowed a sigh. ‘Do we need to go over this again?’

  ‘Tulloch was heading back to Luisa’s apartment.’ Chantal thumbed back up the way. ‘What do you think he was going to do there?’

  Quaresma leaned back against his car and clicked his tongue a few times. ‘You had this Finlay Sinclair follow him, didn’t you?’

  ‘I’m not answering that.’ Chantal folded her arms. ‘I suggest you find Tulloch.’

  Quaresma ran his tongue over his teeth, his eyes flicking between Chantal and Hunter. ‘Because of your unlawful actions, I now have a murder case on top of everything else.’

  Hunter’s eyes bulged. ‘Murder?’

  ‘Well, I doubt Mr Sinclair is going to pull through.’ Quaresma turned to watch the ambulance trundle up the road, giving a blast of siren to clear the way. ‘My priority is in prosecuting whoever did this.’

  ‘It was Matthew Ibbetson.’

  Quaresma looked away. ‘We have officers out searching for him.’

  ‘And Tulloch?’

  ‘We will ensure whoever did this spends a good portion of the rest of his life in a jail.’

  Chantal shook her head. ‘Glad you take something seriously.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She shrugged, the energy seeping out of her body. ‘Tell me you’ve got Keith?’

  ‘Keith?’ Quaresma frowned into space then nodded slowly. He thumbed behind him. ‘We’ve got a record of Keith Brannigan saying someone assaulted him.’

  ‘Assaulted him?’ Hunter got between them. ‘He attacked me. With a knife!’

  Chantal cleared her throat. ‘Keith attacked Craig after Sean Tulloch assaulted me. Matty Ibbetson attacked Craig then… then pushed Finlay off the edge. You need to prosecute him for that, at least.’

  Quaresma let out a deep sigh. ‘Sergeant, before you leave my country, I need some statements from you and Mr Hunter.’

  78

  HUNTER

  * * *

  Hunter walked up the road towards the hotel, for the last time, leading Chantal by the hand. Two minutes in a room with Matty. That’s all I need.

  She let out a sigh. ‘I need to call Sharon.’

  ‘She’ll tell us to head home.’

  ‘You don’t think we should?’

  Hunter raised his shoulders. ‘I don’t think it’s— Wait a sec.’ He jogged over to the bar, his trainers squeaking as he ran.

  ‘Craig!’

  The bar was pretty empty now, just a load of older punters sinking pre-dinner drinks. A few of the Irish hens sat nursing hangovers and glasses of wine at the other side. An old couple nearby were staring at Hunter, giving him the up and down.

  No sign of Tulloch or any of that crowd.

  Hunter craned his neck to look around. Then he slumped back against the fence. ‘Shite.’

  Chantal caught up with him. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  ‘They’re not here.’

  ‘Who? Tulloch? Hardly.’ She scowled at him. ‘You honestly expected them to be here, waiting for you?’

  Hunter clenched his fists. ‘I need to find them. They can’t—’

  ‘Craig. Stop.’ She grabbed his arms. ‘You need to focus.’

  ‘They… they’ve killed Finlay.’

  ‘We don’t know that.’

  ‘He’s broken and…’

  ‘Come on, I need to speak to Sharon, okay?’ She pointed at her matted clothes. ‘And we can’t walk around looking like this, can we?’

  79

  CHANTAL

  * * *

  ‘Sharon, we can’t leave it like this.’ Chantal paced towards their apartment, gripping her phone for grim death. ‘Tulloch’s still at—’

  ‘We’ve got no choice here.’ Sharon sighed down the line. Office chatter rattled in the background. ‘Chantal, I told you and Craig to get back here. My orders still stand.’

  Chantal stopped by their door. Tulloch’s room was right there. Not twenty metres away. ‘We need to—’

  ‘Just stop!’ Sharon’s voice echoed
around in the background. More donut chatter cut in. ‘I should never have agreed to this in the first place. First, Craig assaults Tulloch. Next, he’s involved in a failed arrest. Now someone’s dead because you got him tailing Tulloch!’

  ‘He’s not dead.’

  ‘Yet.’

  ‘Shaz, Tulloch’s on the run now. He’s desperate and at his weakest.’ Chantal slid her hair behind her ear. Blood cracked on her temple. ‘He’s raped someone and assaulted God knows how many, and now he’s involved in what’s happened to Finlay.’

  ‘Wait, Finlay? It was Finlay bloody Sinclair?’ Sharon sighed again. Someone asked if she wanted a coffee. They didn’t get a reply. ‘What was he doing there?’

  Chantal glanced over at Hunter, like a cry for help. He unlocked their door and went inside. She followed him in. The place was still a mess. ‘Helping us.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Because we asked him.’

  A door slammed and the office chatter died. ‘You’re still checked in for that flight. Get on it.’

  Chantal sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Just one more day, Shaz. That’s all we need.’

  ‘No. Quaresma’s people will track down Tulloch. Failing that, it’s Rollo-Smith’s remit.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Listen to me, Quaresma’s people have locked down Tulloch’s room and he’s on a no-fly list, okay? He’s not getting out of the country. You are.’

  ‘Shaz…’

  ‘Chantal, I need you back here so I can pour boiling oil on the pair of you. Get to the airport.’ Sharon paused. ‘And I mean it this time. Okay?’

  Chantal looked over at Hunter, eyebrows raised. Looked like he wanted do anything but head back to Scotland.

  What was the right move? Stay and fight?

  The RMP would win. Tulloch would escape justice for what he’s done. His victims wouldn’t be able to heal their suffering.

  Hunter jolted to his feet and reached for the phone.

  Here we bloody go…

  Chantal glared at him, trying to get him to shut up. ‘We’ve seen what he’s done with our own eyes. One woman raped, another plied with spiked drinks. What happened with Luisa, I don’t know. I think it’s another attempted rape. We need to make sure he pays for these crimes and all the crimes back home. We can’t just go home.’