by Ed James
Hunter pushed himself up. Two speedboats shot towards the oil platform. ‘Can we get away from them?’
‘On it.’ Fiona pulled a handle and their boat blasted through the waves.
Hunter looked back towards the rigs but couldn’t see any sign of approaching boats, not that his eyesight was up to much. Saw double, quadruple, octuple of everything. And the stars were denser, more tightly packed and swimming faster. He let himself take a breath, but it hurt like someone was stabbing his chest. His heart was thudding, his whole body shaking like it hadn’t since Kandahar.
He knew what he needed to do to calm down, but the prospect of a boat filled with gunmen ploughing towards them meant he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
A speck appeared in the distant foam. Was that a boat? No, it was a seal coming up to eat. Of all the times to see that.
Hunter gave another scan of the horizon and decided they were clear. The boat’s diesel fumes stung his nostrils. Salty tang on his lips. He turned to face the land Fiona was navigating them towards.
The wide sandy beach sprawled ahead of them. Dark clouds blocked out the sun, a faint disc hanging above the town. The lights of Cromarty glowed in the grey morning. Behind, the Sutors were a grey-blue, those giant hills guarding the narrow entrance to the firth from the sea.
And he was back. Heart rate back to seventy. Under control.
Unlike Jock, who couldn’t keep his manic eyes from the distant threat. ‘The bastard had a fucking gun!’
Fiona was remarkably calm, steering them towards the small harbour, her singing lost in the engine drone. Hunter kept catching snatches of melody and she could carry a tune, but he had no idea what it was. Probably some sea shanty.
Jock stuffed his hands in his pockets. He was shivering and trying to hide it too. ‘Did we learn anything?’
Hunter sat up and tried to process everything. His lizard brain had been in charge, focused on getting them the hell out of there. And now… Now it was for the mammalian brain to process everything, to plot out moves and strategies, to rationalise everything, to connect dots.
And that part had very little to offer.
He let out a slow breath, keeping his focus on the horizon. ‘All we’ve got from our excursion is the possibility that Murray might’ve been there. And the name Keith, I suppose.’
‘He was there.’ Jock reached into his pocket and his shaking hand held out the paper with the message.
Hunter took hold of it. It wasn’t evidence anymore, but it was information. Intelligence. A lead. Hope. He tried to swallow it down.
Jock shook his head. ‘Craig, something’s happened to your brother on that rig. That boy meant business. I mean, you’ve got all your ninja stuff, but you were lucky I found that pipe because if I hadn’t, you’d be in the water.’ He swallowed hard. ‘And I’d have no sons left.’
Hunter struggled to wrap his brain around the reality of Murray being dead. Before, it’d been a prospect, but that armed numbskull drawing on a police officer? It was real now.
‘I don’t know what happened up there, son, but your brother had a habit of finding trouble. Or it found him.’
Hunter looked at the note again. ‘Any idea who Keith is?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine, son.’
‘You were staying at Murray’s house for two weeks and he didn’t mention a Keith?’
‘Your brother doesn’t exactly confide his deepest, darkest secrets to me.’ Jock stood as they came in to the jetty, keeping perfectly still against the rolling waves.
Hunter stared off at the distant oil rig, hazy and blue. Maybe the guy was just working on another rig, finding out who was trespassing on their property. But in no way would anyone doing that shoot at a cop. He looked over at Fiona, who was mooring the boat to the wharf. ‘Did you get a plate off the boat?’
‘A plate?’ Fiona roared with laughter. ‘It’s not a car.’
‘So what is it?’
‘You’re looking for the boat’s name. And theirs was covered. Whoever they are, they don’t want to leave a trail.’
‘You recognise them?’
‘Afraid not. It was a Bayliner 2855, unless I’m very much mistaken. No idea where they’re docked, mind. Cost you fifty grand if you could find one.’ Her gaze narrowed. ‘Look, can I stay with you guys? I don’t feel safe after what happened to Shug.’ She looked back out to sea. ‘That big guy must’ve killed him too.’
‘Figures.’ Jock frowned at Hunter. ‘You think those guys worked for that Oswald boy?’
‘I need to find out.’
17
Jock drove along the road, his podcast blasting out. Fiona was in the passenger seat, staring out of the window. Down on the beach, a couple walked their dog, tossing a tennis ball into the surf at high tide. The dog was having the time of its life. Dropping the ball at the man’s feet and rushing for it as he hurled it into the brine. A red car followed the curve to follow the road along the river.
No sign of any armed Russian operatives.
The guy was hard as nails. And skilled. Hunter assumed the accent was Russian, but he heard so little of it he couldn’t be sure. Could equally be Israeli, Ukrainian, or any flavour of eastern European, either inside the EU tent or outside.
Hunter’s phone rang. Chantal’s grinning face beamed out, snapped late at night when they’d been drinking. She looked happy. He answered and she sounded anything but. ‘What’s up?’ Her yawn rattled the speaker.
‘Morning.’ Hunter touched his ribs and the bruises bit back. Didn’t feel like he’d cracked anything, none of that telltale ache, but it didn’t stop it hurting. ‘How you doing?’
‘Not good. Barely slept and I’ve got two missed calls and five texts from you. And Scott wants me and Elvis to interview someone assaulted by an Albanian.’
Albanian?
Did that hang together better? Most of the heroin in the UK was run by them, sometimes in tandem with Turkish gangs. The Met closed down a gang in Southend the year before, tied to some assassinations in London.
‘Sorry.’ Hunter focused on a Range Rover behind them, the gunmetal catching the sparse sunlight. ‘We went out to this oil rig and—’
‘CRAIG! What the fuck were you doing on an oil rig?’
‘Long story. We were following my brother’s trail to—’
‘Jesus Christ!’
‘But we found a message to Murray from someone called Keith and…’ Hunter got the sheet of paper out of his pocket. Next to Keith’s still-locked mobile. ‘Someone was there and they… we got away.’
‘You can’t help yourself, can you?’
‘This was…’ A sigh eased out of his lips, giving only the mildest jab of pain. ‘No, you’re right. I can’t.’
‘Did you speak to the owner?’
‘First thing. He told us not to go.’
‘Wonder why…’ Another rasping sigh. ‘I’m coming up there right now.’
‘Chantal, it’s fine. We got away.’
‘No, it’s not. I’ll speak to Scott, get some time off and get the train or I can hire a car. Shite, I’ll even get the bus. You can’t go up on oil rigs, you stupid bastard. You can’t get into fights with people and—’
‘Can you get Elvis to check who owned the boats that chased us?’
She paused, air rattling her microphone. ‘I’ll ask him. But seriously, do I need to—’
‘No. Look, I shouldn’t have told you.’
‘No, you arsehole, you should’ve. Like you should’ve told me about your father not being dead. Christ, Craig. What’s up with you?’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘And if this was the other way round, you’d just tell me it’s all fine?’ She left a space he couldn’t honestly fill. ‘I’ll speak to Scott. Don’t do anything stupid in the meantime.’
‘Seriously, I’ll be fine. Don’t come. Okay?’
‘Craig, is there something else going on?’
‘Of course not. Look, can you look into that
Oswald guy for me? I get a bad feeling about him.’
‘A hunch, great.’
‘Chantal, my brother went up on his oil rig and went missing. I did the same and some big security brute chased us off.’
‘And you’re heading there now?’
‘If Oswald knows where Murray is or what’s happened to him…’
‘Makes sense, I suppose.’
‘Thanks. Love you.’
‘Mm. Love you too, Craig, but you push it at times.’ And she was gone.
Fiona craned her neck round, a mischievous grin on her face. ‘That the ball and chain?’
‘Her name’s Chantal.’ Hunter watched the Range Rover overtake them.
‘So what the hell are you going to do, big guy?’
Hunter didn’t know. Assume him and this Keith went to the rig and someone got kidnapped. By Oswald’s people? Or by some Albanian gang? Or aliens? Or nuclear-powered Aztecs or Incas?
‘Here we go.’ Jock slowed for the gatehouse entrance to the Oswald estate. The guard took one look at them and waved them through.
Through the trees, Hunter watched the building. Seemed even busier than first thing. Smokers outside the front door.
A Range Rover was parked nearby, and a big lump got out the driver’s side. The guy from the oil rig.
‘Turn round.’
Jock glanced at Hunter. ‘Eh?’
‘Turn round. Leave.’ Hunter tried to disarm him with a smile. ‘That’s our friend from the oil rig.’
‘He’s a henchman working for that Oswald boy?’
‘It’s likely.’
‘So let’s pile in there and grab him.’
‘Not the smartest move, Dad. There’s a possibility Murray’s alive. We bring that guy in, there’s no chance we’ll find him.’
Jock cleared the gatehouse and took a hard right, back towards Cromarty. ‘So the trail’s cold?’
The trail wasn’t as cold as he’d thought. If they could find Keith, or Fiona’s mate who took them to the rig, then maybe—
‘So this Lord Oswald boy is involved?’
It was hard to tell. Very hard to tell, but it felt like he was hiding something. As well as knowing more than he should, he was evasive. It felt like too much of a stretch, at least with the information to hand.
Hunter looked round at Jock. ‘Involved in what, though?’
‘Drugs, people trafficking. Could be anything.’
‘Why would someone like Oswald need to run a drug operation?’
Jock’s nostrils flared. ‘You need to listen to me, son. That boy shot at us!’
‘Look, don’t mention that to anyone, okay?’
‘Why?’
‘Just trust me.’
‘Fine, but I think we should get over to that boy’s office, pin him to the table until he spills.’
‘Aye, that’s exactly what’ll happen.’ Hunter rolled his eyes.
Jock glared at Fiona. ‘What about you, toots? You know this guy?’
‘Never heard of him. Toffs like that never speak to the likes of me. And please don’t call me toots in front of him. He’ll get jealous.’
Jock laughed. ‘Where we headed?’
The Mowat Brewery Coffee Shop was all hard edges—wooden tables and chairs, granite slabs and bar—and the sound echoed like a dub techno twelve inch.
Fiona led Hunter over to a table, away from Jock and the rest of the beer fiends. ‘What we doing here?’
‘One, I need that old git to get some food in him before I kill him.’ He nodded over at Jock, shovelling beer nuts into his face as he soaked in the laughter from his sudden best mates. ‘Two, I need to think through what to do now.’
‘Isn’t Jock right? Shouldn’t you go in there?’
‘If he’s right, then I don’t want to admit it to him.’
Fiona laughed just as a waiter appeared with their drinks. Hot chocolate for her, tea for him.
‘Thanks.’ Hunter nodded him away, then poured a cup for himself. Jock was supping a coffee at the bar. No doubt being tempted by a brewery tour, though it was surprising he hadn’t already tried to organise a piss-up. ‘Fiona, you said you haven’t seen Shug since last Sunday, right?’
Fiona sipped from her mug. ‘Right?’
‘But you said you’d spoken to him.’
Fiona blew on her hot chocolate but didn’t take a sip. ‘Right, so I got a WhatsApp off him a few days ago.’ She took another sip and grimaced. ‘Shug was saying he’s away, wouldn’t tell me where. Just abroad.’
‘Abroad?’
‘Shug’s a bit of a shagger. Always heading to Thailand, if you catch my drift.’
‘Great. You think he’s there?’
‘Could be. Or it could be someone else has his phone. Didn’t stack up and, until I see the boy with my own peepers, I’m not believing anything. I mean, you could check flights to Bangkok, right?’
Hunter held out his hands. ‘Can I see your phone?’
‘Rather you didn’t.’ Fiona slurped at the hot chocolate.
Hunter snatched the phone off her. The screen was filled with a photo of his arse as he bent over to tie his laces.
‘Really?’ She was blushing.
He switched apps and found the recent message from Shug. Unanswered. But it showed Shug as being online.
Fiona
Hey boy, u ok?
Shug
Why wouldn’t I be
Lol
Hunter started typing, trying to copy Fiona’s clipped style:
Oil rig shite?
Cop here asking about the boys
Ffs
Fuck me
What did you say????
Relax bud
Said nothing
But one of your boy’s is missing
Any ideas?
Best keep you out of it
Cheers
So?
So whit?
What should I tell the pricks
Nowt
Cops bud
Not taking fuck off for an answer
Lol
Fuck it
Then it said ‘Shug is typing…’ but no message.
Hunter let out a sigh and walked over to the window. The smartphone buzzed again.
Shug
Took the pair of them to the oil rig and they went up but only the mate came back and he was freaking out
That matched what they knew so far.
The fuck happened up there bud?
This boat came out of nowhere
Thought it was the coasties
Started ma engine
Shot off
But this Keith kid was climbing down the ladder
Went back for him
Then fucked off again
Didn’t say what happened but took the boy back to Crom
Kid said he was leaving
Not seen the cunt since mate
Say where?
No idea
You go to the cops?
Kid told me not to
Should of seen him dude
Shiteing it
Got to land and he shot off like bat oot ay hell
Where you at?
Left these camera things in the back
Hunter stared at the screen, trying to keep calm.
Cameras?
Heid ones
Like mountain bikers
Or canoers
Or porn lol
You still got them?
Aye
Going to sell them but
Fucking hell
Pure shiteing it about the boys in the boat
Cops after them bud
Fuck sake
Must of seen mah name on boat reg
Be turning up at mah door any day noo
Well ahm long fucking gone
Where u?
Walls have ears Fi
Ah’ll call when ah’m back
Mind if I look at the cameras?
You wantin to get into porn eh lol
LOL
Girl needs to earn a crust
Bud I’ll see if there’s anything I can give the pigs
Throw them off your scent eh?
Good idea
Keys under the gnome
18
‘That’s it there.’ Fiona pointed out of the window.
A ramshackle cottage on the right, one-and-a-half storeys, bare stone, with bay windows downstairs and squat dormers poking out of the roof. Either side of the door, a thin strip of unruly plants passed for a front garden.
Hunter drove on down the narrow street, past more fishing cottages like you’d find in any town or village north of Edinburgh. Fortrose could be Forfar, Forres or Fort William.
‘We not stopping, bud?’
‘Not outside, no.’ Hunter pulled up at the stop junction. Not much traffic, just a tractor parked outside a Co-op that looked more like a house than a shop. He pulled into the car park and killed the engine. ‘Stay here.’
Fiona was in the passenger seat, tapping away at her phone. ‘I’m looking after him?’
Jock was in the back seat, drinking a massive coffee from a paper cup. ‘Good point. Why are you still here?’
‘Like he’s letting me go.’ Fiona went back to her phone. ‘He’s fucking chaos, bud. He can’t be controlled.’
Hunter waited until she looked up. ‘You’re crapping yourself, aren’t you?’
‘Thinking you pair are my best bet. Strength in numbers, bud. Plus my name’s mud in Crom just now.’