Craig Hunter Books 1-3

by Ed James

  The door opened and Chantal stepped inside, pulling it shut behind her. ‘What the hell, Craig?’

  Hunter got up and tried to kiss her, but she pushed him away. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘A dead body? What the hell is going on?’

  ‘Chantal…’ Hunter felt like he’d been kicked in the stomach. Pain stabbed across his ribs like hammers on piano strings. ‘My brother’s probably dead. I’ve just found his boyfriend’s body. And you’re not answering my calls.’

  ‘I was driving!’

  ‘And you can’t pair your phone to the car?’

  ‘With four DC passengers and the constant stress of you going all smoochy, smoochy on the line? Aye, right.’

  ‘But I needed your help. My brother’s dead.’ The air escaped his lungs, squishing him dry. Tears stung his eyes, his nostrils burning.

  ‘Aw, shite.’ Chantal rushed over and held him as he cried, her hand smoothly caressing his back. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Hunter wrapped his arms around her and held her close. ‘It’s okay.’ He brushed tears away, not that he was scared of her seeing him like that, just… ‘I’ve no idea where Jock is.’

  ‘He’s run away?’ She looked up at him. ‘Oh Christ, Craig. As if I wasn’t getting enough of a bad vibe off him.’

  ‘There’s a reason for that. He’s a racist alcoholic who’s completely incapable of—’

  ‘It’s not that. Bain’s got a hard-on for him. Saying he’s connected with the case. Trying to paint him as a suspect.’

  ‘Bain’s got previous for that.’

  The door opened, Cullen this time. ‘Chantal, you’re up. Get the tape running.’

  ‘Sure thing.’ She kissed Hunter on the cheek and whispered: ‘Love you, Craig. Sorry about all this. We’ll find your brother, okay?’

  ‘Love you too.’ He let her leave.

  Cullen held the door for her. ‘So, big guy. You want to watch?’

  The obs suite, a tiny room filled with monitors and recording equipment, stank even worse of fish, like someone had steamed off rotten haddock in there. The source seemed to be an old-style TV in the corner. Hunter opened it. It wasn’t a TV, but a battered old microwave. Inside, a plate full of cod loins rotted away. He shut the door and tried not to think about it.

  Which proved next to impossible.

  On his small monitor he saw Chantal sitting opposite Fiona in a large interview room, much bigger than where Hunter had been processed by Bain and Cullen.

  The obs suite door opened and Elvis waltzed in. ‘Craig, my man.’ He screwed up his face. ‘Jesus, you should get yourself checked. That’s vile.’

  ‘It’s that microwave, not my guts.’ Hunter tried to deflect any blame onto the animal who’d left festering fish in there. ‘How’s your podcast?’

  ‘My— What?’

  ‘Never mind.’

  Elvis scowled at him. ‘She’s quite tidy, isn’t she?’

  ‘So’s your wife.’

  ‘Sod off.’ Elvis stretched out. ‘Seriously, what do you know about my—’

  The speaker erupted. ‘When is this starting?’ Fiona was slouching, looking bored rather than frightened. Clearly not her first rodeo.

  ‘The tape’s running.’ Chantal pointed at the recorder. Actually a tape machine, doubling up in case the ancient technology broke. ‘He’ll be here soon.’

  Cullen entered the room in a flurry of suit jacket and stubble. ‘Miss Shearer. Sorry for the wait.’ He rested his coat on the back of his chair and sat. ‘You okay?’

  ‘I need to get back to Cromarty.’

  ‘All in good time.’ Cullen rasped his stubble, loud enough for the microphone to pick up. ‘But first, I’d be grateful for your help with something. We’re looking for a mate of yours. Guy called Shug.’

  Fiona sniffed. ‘Right.’

  ‘You help us find him, you get out of here, then you can get back up the road to Cromarty. How’s that sound?’

  ‘What’s he supposed to have done?’

  ‘You know an Ally McCoull, right?’

  ‘Aye, Wee Ally.’

  ‘Tell me how.’

  ‘Well, depends on what you want to know, bud. He’s a bitty older than us. Think he came from Crom originally but lives down in Perth now. Owns a boat in Cromarty.’

  ‘Sure it’s not co-owning a boat?’

  ‘Aye, with Shug.’

  ‘And that’s Hugh Mowat?’

  ‘Think so.’

  ‘To your knowledge, do they ever argue about the boat?’

  ‘Not that I heard.

  Mate, you’re going to need to tell me why I’m here.’

  ‘Okay.’ Cullen drummed his fingers on the table, the sound popping the obs suite speakers.

  Elvis burped. ‘Sorry.’ Then again. ‘God that fish is minging.’

  On-screen, Cullen gave Fiona a pistol finger. ‘We believe that Shug, as you know him, or Hugh Paul Mowat as Her Majesty’s government does, visited an address in Perth on Friday and murdered Alistair McCoull.’

  ‘What?’

  Cullen turned to face Chantal, his expression one of extreme worry. ‘Am I not speaking clearly enough?’

  ‘I can hear you just fine. Need me to see if DC Hunter or DC Gordon are hearing this through there?’

  ‘Nah, I’ll take your word for it.’ Cullen looked back at Fiona. ‘Must just be your ears that are the problem.’ He gave a pause. ‘You know anything about that murder?’

  ‘Woah!’ Fiona raised her hands, like she was calming a wild horse. ‘No way, man!’

  ‘Well, we’ve got a huge issue here.’ Cullen clapped his hands together and screwed his face tight. ‘Two dead bodies. One in Perth, and one here in Inverness.’

  Fiona frowned. ‘That boy died?’

  ‘What boy?’

  ‘Keith.’ Fiona deepened her frown. ‘That big lad, Craig, he brought us here looking for a Keith. That who he found in the flat?’

  Cullen nodded.

  ‘Christ.’

  ‘We’ve still not managed to identify the body, but we think it’s him. He seems to have lived a fairly hermitic lifestyle. No personal photos. In fact, no personal possessions other than… Well.’ He flashed a cold smile. ‘You know anything about his death?’

  ‘I’m way out my depth here, bud. I took Big Craig and his old boy up to the rig, just to help out. But if they’re killing people…’

  ‘You think they’re killing people?’

  ‘Isn’t that what you’re saying here?’

  Cullen sat back, his nostrils flaring. Or at least it looked that way on the grainy monitor. Either way, he was clearly flustered and frustrated. ‘I need to speak to Shug.’

  ‘Shug’s not a killer.’

  ‘Okay, but I can’t just take your word for it, can I? He’s our chief suspect in Ally McCoull’s murder. We believe he was in Perth on Friday to meet someone. Same day Mr McCoull was killed.’

  Fiona seemed to shrink in on herself.

  Cullen and Chantal exchanged a look.

  Hunter stood up and got a fresh blast of stale fish. ‘Bollocks to this.’ He walked over to the door.

  Elvis grabbed his arm. ‘Craig, mate, if you go in there, Cullen will go tonto.’

  ‘Like to see him try.’ Hunter brushed him off and walked out into the corridor. Hard to figure out which door led to the interview room. He tried the first one and got a cleaning cupboard. Next door was the right room.

  Cullen looked over at him with a dark scowl, then went back to glaring at Fiona. But he didn’t seem to have anything to ask. That or Hunter had thrown him off his train of thought.

  Hunter sat next to Fiona. ‘Alright, let’s cut the bullshit here. Last time you saw Ally McCoull was in the pub in Cromarty last week, right?’

  ‘Aye?’

  ‘You got barred after you attacked Ally, didn’t you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We’ll get a statement from the barman. Get a few regulars to back it up. Then we’ll start going through your c
omings and goings since then. I suspect there’s a big gap around Friday night, right?’

  Fiona shook her head, hard. ‘No!’

  ‘Look, the sooner you stop clowning around here, the sooner you’ll get home.’

  Still nothing, just shaking her head.

  ‘I know the guys you hang out with on the boats. Real hardened types. Probably a few of them have done time. Given you some advice. Don’t get a lawyer in. Keep quiet, see what the cops can make stick. I get it. But right now, you’re not my focus.’

  ‘I helped you, bud. Took you out to that rig.’ Fiona looked at Cullen, sly like she knew she was getting Hunter into trouble. ‘And this is how—’

  ‘I appreciate it, but we did pay you for your trouble. And for what it’s worth, I don’t think you killed Ally. We just need to find Shug. That’s it. When we do, you’re out of here. Deal?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Okay, so I know you’ve been messaging Shug on WhatsApp. What’s your passcode?’

  ‘Like I’m telling the cops that.’

  ‘You can walk away…’

  Fiona sighed. ‘Fuck’s sake. Passcode is 1688.’

  Cullen rolled his eyes. ‘Rangers fan?’

  ‘My dad was. It’s his boat. But it’s no use while your old man’s in the wind.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, he swiped my phone, didn’t he?’

  Hunter groaned. ‘I gave you it back. Shite. Why did he take it?’

  ‘Your old man said he needed to check in.’

  ‘Who with?’

  Fiona shrugged. ‘Didn’t say. He called someone, then dashed off.’

  Meaning the old rascal had nipped away with the only solid lead they had in either case.

  ‘Where’s Jock’s car?’

  Chantal frowned. ‘Downstairs.’

  22

  ‘Oh my god.’ Cullen was in the back seat of Jock’s car. ‘What on earth is this?’ He held up a torch. ‘Is it what I think it is?’

  Hunter could only nod. He leaned into the car. ‘Can I help?’

  ‘Help? Craig, you just barged into that interview without permission. You broke my strategy.’

  ‘Didn’t look like you had one there, mate.’

  ‘And now I’ve got your dad’s Fleshlight all over my hands.’

  ‘Hope he’s cleaned it.’

  ‘That’s… Ugh.’ Cullen got out of the car with a grim expression. ‘Craig, I’m your superior officer, so you need to defer to me.’

  ‘You’re one to talk.’

  ‘Do as I say, not as I do.’

  ‘You found anything in there?’

  ‘Just your father’s sex toy.’ Cullen shut the car door and leaned against it. ‘He got any family up this way he could run to?’

  ‘On Mum’s side, but nobody close. Jock never talks about his side, but he seems to know a hell of a lot about Cromarty.’

  Bright headlights lit up Cullen like a police helicopter. A minibus pulled up outside the station and people started getting out. Big men, athletic women. All in suits. Could tell a mile off they were cops.

  Chantal stopped checking in Jock’s boot to look over. ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘The Livingston MIT.’ Cullen put his hands in his pockets. ‘After Craig found another body, we needed more skulls. Inverness are up to their nipples and Glasgow have, well… it’s Glasgow. So Methven pulled in virtually all the favours he’s been building up for the last couple of years.’ He smirked, like he wanted to say something he shouldn’t. ‘So, aye, they’re helping out too. And I’ve got to brief them about this murder.’

  ‘Sorry for barging in, Scott.’

  ‘Don’t mention it. I’d rather my subordinates jumped in and were right, than were wrong or kept it to themselves.’ Cullen set off. Or tried to.

  Hunter grabbed his sleeve. ‘Are you doing anything about the drugs haul?’

  Cullen glared at Hunter’s hand. ‘There’s another minibus halfway up the A9 full of my old drug squad buddies. We’ll dig into it.’ He patted Hunter on the back. ‘Just find that phone, okay?’ He left them, walking over to the minibus. Slowly, like he was looking for someone.

  A tall woman stepped down from the vehicle, her dark hair hanging loose in a lopsided ponytail. Looked slimmer than Hunter remembered. DS Yvonne Flockhart. Hunter’s ex. She made a beeline for Cullen and they embraced. Not the hug of colleagues, but of lovers. Lingering fingers stroking fabric with a shared intimacy. Intensely staring into each other’s eyes.

  Hunter’s gut lurched, the butterflies twisting and turning down there. ‘What the hell?’ His fists were clenched. ‘Sleazy bastard was sleeping in my flat for four months while he was shagging my ex.’

  Chantal rolled her eyes. ‘Who are you more jealous of?’

  ‘What?’

  She pinched his cheek. ‘Winding you up.’

  ‘Don’t.’ Hunter spotted some fury in her eyes. Her insecurity, deeply hidden beneath all that bluster and arrogance and cool. He pinched her cheek this time. ‘Look, it’s not the fact they’re an item. I don’t care. I’ve got you. I win.’

  She shook her head. ‘You know how to charm a girl.’

  ‘It’s the subterfuge. Or it’s that Scott can’t talk to me about his life. I thought we were over it. I mean…’ Hunter sighed. ‘That messed me up for years. Losing my girlfriend because she’d… It stopped me being able to trust anyone. You helped me get over it. I’m not angry anymore. It’s just… stupidity.’

  Chantal shot him a warm smile. ‘Come on, let’s find that phone.’

  ‘I’m worried what else we might find in there.’ Hunter got in the car and sat on the driver seat. Still spotless. Jock’s two newspapers sat on the passenger seat. Hunter popped the glovebox and a box of ribbed condoms tumbled out, along with a copy of the Times. Hunter opened it and a porno mag was rolled up inside. All those trips to the newsagent. The guy was a sex addict.

  ‘What?’ Chantal was in the back seat, rooting around under the seats. ‘You got something?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘This is creepily clean and tidy, Craig. Given the state you leave our flat in, you clearly didn’t inherit his OCD.’

  ‘Organised to the point of psychopathy, right?’ Hunter popped the hatch between the seats. ‘I see what you mean.’

  Chantal opened the central console.

  ‘Scott’s already—’

  ‘Why would you put a torch in—’ She scowled. ‘Oh my fuck.’ She gritted her teeth, looking like she was going to be sick, and slammed the lid. ‘Well, there’s no phone.’

  Hunter took one last look around the cabin. ‘Nope.’

  ‘You got any idea where he might be?’

  ‘None.’

  A big sweating lump came over, hands in pockets. ‘Which one of you is Cullen?’

  ‘Him.’ Hunter pointed at the embracing couple, got a rabbit-in-the-headlights look from Cullen. ‘Why?’

  ‘Got a guy upstairs wants to see him and a Craig Hunter?’

  Hunter followed Cullen through the station, desperately needing another coffee. Or his bed. Definitely needed something to eat.

  Cullen stopped by the door. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘No idea, mate.’

  ‘You first.’ Cullen beckoned him into the room.

  Hunter entered.

  Lord Oswald sat there, dressed to the nines. Tweed flat cap, Barbour jacket, pink shirt, red trousers. ‘Ah, Inspector.’ He gave a curt smile to Hunter. ‘And you’ve brought a friend. Of course, the matter at hand pertains directly to him.’

  Callum, his assistant, stood over his right shoulder, hands in gloves, his black suit paired with a dark-grey shirt and tie.

  Cullen took his time sitting, his usual trick while he tried to own the room and everyone in it. He beckoned for Hunter to join him, then smiled at Oswald. ‘How can I help?’

  Hunter stayed standing by the door, trying to size up Callum’s threat level. He reckoned he could handle him, if anything came of
it, not that it was likely to in a police station.

  Oswald gestured at the chair opposite. ‘Please, sit.’

  ‘I’m good.’

  ‘Well, then.’ Oswald tensed his forehead, then focused on Cullen. ‘I wish to make a formal complaint about Mr Hunter here and his father for trespassing on an oil rig presently under the care of my business.’

  Cullen nodded slowly. ‘Is that so?’

  ‘I have evidence of this trespass.’ Oswald reached into his jacket and produced an envelope, which he placed on the table in front of him. Just that bit too far away for Cullen to reach. ‘This packet contains CCTV footage of Mr Hunter here and his father aboard Osprey Alpha this morning.’ He tapped the envelope. ‘Please ensure, as his superior officer, that he’s taken to task for this.’

  Cullen looked at Hunter but didn’t seem to know what to do.

  Hunter walked over and grabbed the packet, then started leafing through it. Grainy black-and-white shots of him, Jock and Fiona, both as a group and after they’d split up. At least three of Jock sifting through the pornography.

  ‘He was trespassing, Inspector.’

  ‘I was following a lead in a missing persons case. You’d refused access.’

  ‘Which is entirely my right. It’s an incredibly dangerous place.’

  ‘Filled with a shitload of heroin?’

  Oswald laughed. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘Let me guess, that’s nothing to do with you?’

  ‘Good heavens, man, I’m a respectable businessman.’ Oswald scowled at Cullen. ‘Now, given he’s admitted to trespassing, can you please prosecute him and his father?’

  ‘See, we have video evidence of the drugs. Boxes of heroin.’ Hunter waited for any reaction from Oswald, but the guy was good. ‘Thing is, when we went up to the rig, the drugs were gone.’

  ‘Inspector, I insist you prosecute them.’ Oswald leaned forward, keeping his voice low. ‘When I warn people off trespassing, they usually comply. When your chap here came to see me, I just knew he’d go up there. It was written all over his face. And there’s a CCTV system. It was merely a case of watching them stagger around in the wind. It’d be amusing if it wasn’t so illegal. Now, are you going to prosecute them for me?’