Craig Hunter Books 1-3

by Ed James

  Hunter rested on the table with a grin. ‘Something missing from this lot, though.’

  Oswald looked baffled, his mouth hanging open. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Well, you’ve got me and my father. There was someone else with us.’

  ‘There are three people in the photos. One of them is a local fisherwoman.’ Oswald rolled his eyes. ‘You saw fit to bring two members of the public along with you.’

  ‘Okay. I meant someone else. You sent your goon after us.’ Hunter held his hand above his head. ‘Big lump, foreign accent.’ He nodded at Callum. ‘Even bigger than him. The guy who shot at me.’

  Cullen said nothing.

  Hunter looked back at Oswald. ‘He looked pretty handy. And I’m pretty sure he’s responsible for the murder of—’

  ‘I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.’

  Cullen joined Hunter in standing. ‘Sir, can we access your CCTV remotely?’

  ‘Certainly.’ Oswald clicked his fingers at his assistant.

  Callum nodded and pulled out an extra-large Samsung smartphone. He held it out to them, showing footage of Hunter and Jock cocking about on the rig, blown about by the wind, shouting at each other as they tried to leave.

  The attacker appeared at the edge of the screen, climbing up a ladder. Then his whole body, before he slipped up and over, then disappeared off to the side.

  Hunter snatched the mobile off him and hit pause, then wound it back. Not a great image, but good enough. ‘That’s him.’

  Oswald stared at the screen. ‘Well, I’ve never seen him before in my life.’

  ‘He doesn’t work for you?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’ Oswald waved a hand at his lumbering goon. ‘Gentlemen, this is my head of security. Callum McBeth.’

  Hunter focused on him. ‘And let me guess, you’ve no idea who this guy is, right?’

  ‘Of course he doesn’t.’

  Hunter shot Oswald a glare. ‘I’m asking him, not you.’

  ‘No idea who he is.’ Callum had a thin and shrill voice, like he’d lost both bollocks in a freak gardening accident as a youth.

  ‘But you’ve seen him?’

  ‘Just on that video.’

  ‘So if you gave us full access to your CCTV, we wouldn’t see him taking all the drugs off the rig? Wouldn’t see him—’

  ‘We’ve lost the footage.’ Callum folded his bulky arms but his suit didn’t pucker at all, just stayed at the perfect fit. ‘We had a break-in at the weekend and someone took the servers.’ He pointed at the ceiling. ‘I’m working with your colleagues in Inverness on floor three.’

  ‘Just so happened, right?’

  ‘Our theory is it’s an inside job. I’m interviewing all of our employees.’

  ‘Sounds like you know who’s involved.’

  ‘Not yet.’ Callum licked his lips. ‘But we had a report of two people up on the rig the week before. Headed up myself but certainly didn’t see any giant boxes of drugs. No sign of them. Which is why we installed the security system. Not that it’s doing us any good.’

  ‘Mate, we’ve got video evi—’

  ‘Craig.’ Cullen shot Hunter a warning glare.

  Oswald got to his feet, pocketing his smartphone. ‘Inspector, are you going to charge him with trespass?’

  Cullen lifted his shoulders. ‘This isn’t my remit. I’m a murder squad detective and so is Craig. He reports to me, that’s true, but this is a local policing matter. Suggest you file a complaint with the front desk.’

  Cullen stopped in the corridor and opened a door. ‘In here.’ He held it for Hunter, then shut it when Hunter was in the room. ‘If it turns out little Lord Fauntleroy back there isn’t involved in all this, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to protect you.’

  Hunter stormed over to the window and looked out. Cracking view up to the castle, a Victorian military stronghold rather than Edinburgh’s ancient landmark. ‘I’m looking for my brother, Scott. That was his last known location.’

  ‘Very noble, mate, just watch where you’re looking.’

  Hunter turned to face Cullen. ‘You think I’ll get done for this?’

  ‘Probably. I’ll help you any way I can, but he’s got evidence you were up there where you shouldn’t have been. Whether you go down for it, that’s not for me to speculate on. But you’re on my time and your brother’s case is now part of mine.’

  Hunter felt a surge of relief. ‘I appreciate it.’

  ‘First, you think that security guy’s lying about the lost CCTV?’

  ‘Undoubtedly. But we’d need a warrant to get access to their logs, by which time they’ll make their servers disappear, assuming they haven’t already.’ Hunter held Cullen’s blue-eyed gaze. ‘The way I see it, I think someone’s using Lord Oswald’s rig to smuggle heroin into the country. Possibly with his knowledge, possibly without. The guy on the rig was hardcore, Scott.’

  ‘I’ve done my time in the trenches on drugs cases over the last few years. You wouldn’t stick that amount of smack on an oil rig you weren’t in complete control of.’

  ‘You think I’m on to something?’

  Cullen spent a few seconds thinking it through, staring up at the ceiling. ‘Craig, you know I’m an ambitious prick, so tell me if this is my ego getting ahead of me.’

  ‘No, it all works. At least in my head.’

  ‘Okay. We need to find this guy who attacked you. Get him in a room, see what he knows.’

  ‘Guy like that won’t speak.’

  ‘He might not, but he’ll be on a record somewhere. And either someone he knows talks, or someone who knows him will.’

  ‘That’s pretty dark.’

  Cullen shrugged. ‘At least two murders here. I’ll get as dark as I need to.’

  Hunter leaned back against the door. ‘We still need to find Fiona’s phone. And my old man.’

  Cullen nodded. ‘Right. Let’s go back to first principles. Flush him out.’

  ‘And how do we do that?’

  Hunter had him. Cullen stood there, hands in pockets. Kept starting to say something, then stopping.

  ‘Boys!’ Chantal came over, holding a note in a gloved hand. ‘This is from your old man.’

  Hunter read it:

  Sorry Craig

  Need to get back to Cromarty

  Love,

  Daddy

  23

  Hunter pulled up outside the Cromarty Hotel and waited. The TDI engine in Jock’s Passat had kicked the arse of Cullen’s Golf GTi. That or Hunter’s driving skills had been the difference maker. ‘Daddy… Jesus.’

  Chantal was in the passenger seat, arms wrapped around her torso, scowling at everything she looked at in the pervert’s vehicle. ‘Where the hell is he?’ She did a lot of listening.

  The town was lit up for the impending night-time, but the sun was still up, hanging over the horizon above distant hills Hunter didn’t know the names of.

  ‘Right, then.’ Chantal put the phone to her ear. ‘Methven.’ That’s all she needed to say.

  ‘Come on, let’s go.’ Hunter got out into the cool night air and waited for Chantal to join him before locking the car with the remote. He set off to the front door, but took one last look at the Passat. ‘That’s an expensive motor, isn’t it?’

  Chantal opened the door. ‘Can be, why?’

  ‘It’s just…’ Hunter frowned before stepping inside. ‘How the hell does he afford it?’

  Chantal’s turn to frown. ‘You lead on, I’ve got a call to make.’

  Hunter nodded, not wanting to even know who the call was to, then entered the hotel bar. The exact same array of drinkers as when they’d checked in almost twenty-four hours ago.

  The barman was standing back, thumbs tucked into an apron emblazoned with the logo of a brewery Hunter couldn’t even read. ‘Can I get you, mate?’

  ‘I’m staying here with my old man. You might remember him?’

  ‘Hard to forget, son. Trying to order a pint when he came in
at two this morning. Nae danger.’

  Hunter rested his hands on the bartop. ‘Trouble is, I haven’t heard from him in a few hours. He been in today?’

  ‘Not that I’ve seen.’

  Hunter leaned in close. ‘He’s not quite got all of his marbles and he’s had heart troubles. Any chance I can get a look in his room?’

  The barman looked over and nodded at a man slightly raising his pint glass. ‘Be a sec, Sid.’ Then back to Hunter. ‘Pal, I can’t just—’

  ‘I’m a cop.’ Hunter held out his warrant card. ‘I don’t like to play it like this, but I’m worried about him.’

  The barman sighed. ‘Let me pour this pint, then I’ll get you the cleaner’s key.’ He took a fresh glass and started pouring Best into it.

  The door clattered open and Chantal stumbled in, scowling back at the entrance. Didn’t even elicit a look from the drinkers. Which surprised Hunter—maybe it was more enlightened up here, but down in the central belt, an Asian-Scot, especially a female one, entering a pub would’ve got a fair amount of interest. She walked over and took Hunter’s hand, then whispered in his ear. ‘I checked. Your father owns the car, assuming he’s John Edward Hunter.’

  ‘Jock for short, aye.’

  The barman handed Hunter the key. ‘Here you go, son.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Hunter led off to the stairwell. ‘He definitely owns a 68-plate Passat?’

  ‘It’s on a lease, but he’s the legal keeper.’

  Hunter held the door for her. ‘Curiouser and curiouser.’

  Hunter knocked on the door, making the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign sway a little. ‘Jock?’

  Silence.

  In another room, a vacuum rumbled away. Sounded like it was upstairs.

  He tried again. ‘You in, Dad?’

  Still nothing from inside.

  Hunter unlocked the door. ‘One last chance, Jock.’ He waited, listening hard. Then he was struck with the fear that his father might be dead in there. One body tended to lead to multiple bodies, at least in his mind. He jerked the handle and opened wide.

  Empty.

  The double bed was made, the pillows puffed up almost like nobody had slept there. But Jock’s dark purple sleep mask lay on the chest to the left, resting on his Kindle. His suitcase sat on the luggage rack.

  Hunter looked in the bathroom. Everything was dry. Just some obsessively placed toiletries. Razor, shaving foam, can of deodorant, toothbrush, small toothpaste.

  ‘He’s not been here since breakfast.’

  ‘Seriously, this is how tidy he is?’

  ‘You saw his car.’

  She snarled. ‘And his sex toy.’

  ‘Where the hell is he?’

  ‘Step back, Craig. You were in Inverness and he ran off when he saw our cars. Where else could he have gone?’

  ‘Back to Murray’s, but that’s hours away. Train to Edinburgh, then down to Gala. Taxi to Murray’s.’

  ‘We could check.’ Chantal walked over to the window and looked out. ‘Who’s that guy? The Irish one?’

  ‘Right. Warner.’ Hunter folded his arms and played it through. The trouble with an estranged father—other than the father bit—was the estranged part. He just didn’t know enough about the old bastard to be able to second-guess his movements. He squatted and started sifting through the luggage, hoping for no more sex toys. ‘If I was to give him the benefit of the doubt, I’d say he’s looking for his missing son.’

  ‘By running from the cops?’

  ‘Well, exactly. There’s a lot of doubt and hardly any benefit. But I don’t know… I mean, he’s always been a shady git. Always up to his hooky little tricks. But running from the cops? That’s extreme, even for him.’

  ‘Maybe he thinks we’ll slow down his search?’

  ‘But I found Keith before he knew.’

  ‘Just before Scott and Crystal turned up, though.’ Chantal turned away from the window. ‘We had intel that Shug was in Inverness. Dead end, though. Hence Cullen and Methven hanging around and trying to blame each other. Your phone call was a bolt from the blue. Saved both their arses.’

  Always the way. Hunter took another look around the room. ‘Come on, he’s not here.’ He left the room and locked the door behind Chantal. Then followed her downstairs.

  Hunter stepped out into the cold again. The sun had slipped below the horizon and the sea breeze had picked up, flinging a discarded newspaper around the turning space. He unlocked the Passat but didn’t get in.

  The assumption that Jock would return to the hotel had fallen apart. Hunter had no clue as to where he was or any idea why he’d run from the cops.

  Hunter couldn’t help but shake his head. ‘I just want to find my brother.’ His throat felt tight as he dialled Fiona’s number.

  And Jock actually answered. Sounded like he was driving, but the engine was that bit louder and that bit further away. Given Hunter was resting against his car, that was yet another mystery. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Son, I need to lie low for a bit, okay?’ Click and he was gone.

  ‘Bastard hung up on me.’ Hunter tried again, but it went straight to voicemail. He opened the car and got in, slamming the door behind him.

  Chantal sat on the passenger seat like she was at a crime scene. Up ahead, the local service bus trundled down the road from Fortrose, headlights on, a few passengers standing to get off. ‘He’s a bloody depraved pervert and…’ She nudged his arm. ‘Why aren’t you listening to me?’

  ‘Got an idea.’ Hunter put the car in gear and drove off, pulling up outside the pizza restaurant, with a good view of the square outside the hotel and across the beach. He dialled a number. It was answered. ‘Elvis, need you to ping a number for me.’

  ‘I’m not just here for the nasty things in life like a blocked drain…’

  Hunter read out Fiona’s number.

  ‘Right. Got it. He’s moving fast, slipping between cell towers like nobody’s business.’

  ‘Knew it. He’s on the bus. Where is he?’

  ‘Just by Cromarty. Tell you, the brewery there is top notch.’

  ‘Thanks, mate.’ Hunter killed the call. ‘Come on.’ He got out and set off back to the hotel.

  One last look and the place was still quiet and dark, but the dim lights of a bus in the distance. He let Chantal go first and followed her, waiting by the window and peering out.

  A man hopped off the bus and bounded over to the hotel. He jogged towards the building and shot up the steps, slowing as he neared the top. Hunter stepped over to the doorway and waited at the side.

  Jock blundered through, unfolding his keys and scowling.

  Hunter grabbed his shoulder, spun him round and pinned him to the wall. ‘Oh, look, there he is.’

  ‘Ah, shite.’ Jock stopped wriggling. ‘Craig, son, I need to get out of here.’

  ‘Where’s the phone?’

  ‘Right.’ Jock reached into his pocket for a blue-silver Samsung. ‘Here.’ He passed it over.

  Hunter unlocked it. ‘You’ve been messaging Shug, pretending to be Fiona. She just gave you her passcode?’

  ‘I can guess most people’s based on a few questions. Yours is 4781.’

  ‘Jesus.’ Hunter felt himself blush as he checked the messages.

  Shug

  Crom harbour

  Quarter to six

  Be there or be a cunt

  Half an hour.

  24

  Hunter sat in the car and checked the dashboard clock. 17:40, and no sign of an early appearance by Shug, unless he was watching from afar.

  ‘Cullen’s late.’ Chantal leaned forward to stretch out. ‘We should’ve put the meeting back.’

  ‘No chance of that, hen.’ Jock in the back, his foot jiggling like he was playing in a ceilidh band. Or he was bursting for the toilet. Like a small child. ‘One-time deal. Someone like that gets in touch with info you want or need, you don’t get much say in when you meet.’

  Chantal twisted round to frown at him. �
��What exactly was your plan, then?’

  Jock sat back, arms folded. ‘Listen, that laddie knows what happened. I was going to go to town on him.’

  Chantal looked round with a sneer. ‘With your Fleshlight?’

  Jock shrugged. ‘How the hell did you find that?’

  ‘Not exactly well hidden, was it?’

  ‘Why did you run?’

  Jock shrugged. ‘I didn’t want to get caught up in a load of nonsense with the police.’

  ‘You’re sitting in a car with two cops.’ Hunter twisted fully round to face him. ‘Besides, you didn’t know I’d find a dead body in that flat. You didn’t know the cops would be a couple of minutes away.’

  ‘I just needed to get out of there, son. Don’t need any noise from the cops.’

  ‘What have you done, Dad?’

  Jock slumped back in his chair. ‘I’m living in my car.’

  ‘It doesn’t look like it. It’s too tidy.’

  ‘Well, I don’t exactly want to put up a sign saying “Man sleeping here, come and steal his valuables”, do I?’

  Chantal smirked at him. ‘Who would steal a used Fleshlight?’

  ‘Shut up about that. Christ!’ Jock let his seatbelt whizz up. ‘Look, I’m a tidy man, and I clean up every morning. And I’ve a special cleaner for that thing. I’ve got a sleeping bag and one of those sleep pillows for the planes. Then Murray let me stay at his for a bit while things blew over.’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘Never you mind.’ Jock tapped at the window. ‘Looks like Shug’s not turning up. Five minutes late now. That Fiona lassie said he’d be bang on time.’

  ‘Fiona knew about this?’

  ‘Well, I sounded her out about Shug. She wasn’t exactly full of great chat. Think she’s got a thing for me. I’m sick to the back teeth of daddy issues.’

  ‘No, you exploit them.’ Hunter scanned the area. The sweep of the coast, down to the small harbour. Nobody around in the early evening gloom, not even dog-walkers. He got out his phone and called Elvis. ‘You guys on your way over or what?’