Hunted

by Ed James

  Caught.

  This is it.

  This is where she breaks us up and . . .

  She pushed at Sharon’s door and peered in. ‘Sharon?’

  She was on the phone, nodding her head. A Thornton’s chocolate box sat on the desk. ‘Okay, I’ll speak to you later. Bye.’ She put the phone down and fixed a glare on Chantal. ‘You going to start telling me the truth or shall I get someone from HR to sit in on our chat?’

  Chantal glanced at the door behind her and sucked in a deep breath. ‘Me and Craig are an item.’

  ‘I know.’ A grin crept over Sharon’s face. ‘You lying cow.’

  ‘It’s not like you think. We—’

  ‘Don’t even try telling me “Oh, we got together in Portugal, for reals, LOL”.’ Sharon reached into the chocolate box and took one out. ‘You’ve been shagging him for months, so don’t you dare try that bullshit with me.’

  ‘It’s the—’

  ‘Chantal. Stop. Back in August, I popped round to your flat when I was passing. Your neighbour let me into the stairwell. I was going to knock on the door, but I heard you. “Oh, Craig! Oh, Craig, fill me with your man juice!” Sound familiar?’

  Chantal rubbed at her cheek, not all of the heat from the tan top-up. ‘Mmh, aye, so, are you going to separate us?’

  ‘I’ve not got a choice.’ Sharon took another chocolate from the box, the paper rustling. ‘Look, Scott and I kept it a secret for a month when we started going out, remember? It’s not a good idea. We’ve got to be cleaner than clean in this unit.’

  ‘I know, it’s just . . .’

  ‘I’ll cover it over, but I need you to stop lying to me, okay?’

  Chantal sighed, half with relief, half with embarrassment. ‘Fine.’

  ‘Good.’ She took another chocolate. Didn’t look like she was going to offer any. She finished chewing and picked up another. ‘So, what’s going to happen is I will fill the new DS position I’ve got approval for—’

  ‘What?’

  Sharon pushed a piece of paper across the desk. ‘Last thing Fletcher did before his holiday.’ She held up a finger. ‘Don’t let Craig get excited. He’s nowhere near ready.’ She popped the next chocolate into her mouth, looked like a toffee from the way she chewed it. ‘Once this new DS is in, your old team will report to them, including Craig, okay?’ She winked at Chantal. ‘Try not to shag any of your new team, aye?’

  ‘Fine.’ Chantal yawned into her fist. ‘Sorry. Look, I’ve acted like a cow about this. You don’t deserve it, and—’

  ‘That was the Procurator Fiscal on the phone.’ Sharon stretched. Clearly the sugar boost from the chocolates was only going so far in battling her exhaustion. ‘She thinks we’ve got more than enough to prosecute and we’ve barely done any detailed interviews yet.’ She pulled out a notepad and started flicking through it. ‘Of course, you’ll be working with Elvis on it. I’ll have to pair Hunter up with Jenny or Jim. He might be able to show them how it’s done.’

  The door rattled open and Rollo-Smith stormed in. ‘Inspector.’ He glowered at Chantal. ‘Sergeant.’

  ‘How can we help, Brian?’

  Rollo-Smith bristled, probably at being addressed informally for the first time since boarding school. ‘I have spoken to my superiors.’

  ‘And are you going to try to help us?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You’ve been a hindrance to us throughout this case.’

  ‘You say that without any solid evidence against Private Tulloch, or have you finally gathered any?’

  ‘The Procurator Fiscal’s pressed the button on the prosecution. We’ll be charging Tulloch as soon as DC Hunter and DS Cullen are finished with him.’

  ‘This might help.’ Rollo-Smith extended a mobile phone like it was a bugle.

  Chantal frowned at it. ‘What’s that?’

  Rollo-Smith fiddled with the screen. ‘This is gold dust, Sergeant.’ He showed her the display, a video playing.

  Paisley Sanderson, tied up on a bed, screaming while Tulloch thrust away at her. She looked into the camera, terror in her eyes. Tulloch’s throaty voice booming out of the tinny speakers. ‘Tell me you love my monster cock, you fucking whore!’

  Rollo-Smith paused it, the freeze frame showing tears streaming down Paisley’s cheek. ‘It would appear that Mr Tulloch sent videos of him torturing the women to a few friends.’

  Chantal reached for the phone.

  Rollo-Smith pulled it away. ‘Not so fast.’

  ‘We need that locked up in evidence. Where did you get it?’

  ‘DI Bruce obtained it from Matty Ibbetson. I spoke to him this morning.’ Rollo-Smith cleared his throat. ‘I shall hold onto this. But, the evidence will be at your disposal in due course.’

  Sharon put one hand on her hip, the other out in front of her. ‘Give.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘That’s our case.’ Chantal nodded at the handset. ‘Give me the mobile. Now.’

  ‘I won’t take orders from a Sergeant.’

  She snatched it from his hand. ‘This is going into our evidence store.’

  The soldier straightened his shoulders and glared at Sharon. ‘Detective Inspector McNeill, I refuse to be subordinated like this. I demand the return of that telephone. This instant.’

  Sharon smiled at him. ‘Get out of here.’

  Rollo-Smith barked out a laugh. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘You heard.’

  ‘Very well.’ Rollo-Smith put his left hand into his blazer pocket and walked over to the door. ‘I shall be in touch with DCI Fletcher.’ With that he marched out of the room, the door banging behind him.

  Chantal slumped into the chair opposite Sharon. ‘You’re getting on like a house on fire.’

  ‘He’s an idiot.’ Sharon reached into her box of Thornton’s chocolates. ‘Brucie Boner sent these through. There are flowers in the kitchen and three bottles of Prosecco in the fridge.’

  ‘That’s good of him.’

  ‘You stupid bastard!’ Shouting came from out in the office. ‘You could’ve got her killed!’

  Chantal rushed out, Sharon following her.

  Hunter had Rollo-Smith by the lapels, pushed up against the wall. ‘It’s your bloody fault!’

  Rollo-Smith wriggled against him. ‘Let me go!’

  Chantal raced over and pulled Hunter back. ‘Craig, what the hell are you doing?’

  Hunter let Rollo-Smith go with an open-handed smack in the face. ‘This craven little worm leaked it to Tulloch’s mates. Told them we were speaking to Paisley.’

  Chantal stared at Rollo-Smith. ‘Is that true?’

  He brushed the shoulders of his jacket. ‘My officers have been interviewing Tulloch’s cohort off the record.’

  ‘Wait, your officers have interviewed him?’

  Rollo-Smith nodded. ‘Naturally.’

  ‘Did you speak to Tulloch?’

  ‘Naturally.’

  Chantal glared at Rollo-Smith. ‘You did leak it, didn’t you?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You told a bunch of his mates that we were speaking to Paisley.’ Her turn to grab Rollo-Smith and pull him close. ‘Tulloch tried to kill Paisley because of what you did!’

  ‘This isn’t my fault!’ Rollo-Smith pushed away from her. ‘We were carrying out an investigation in support of yours!’

  Chantal snorted. ‘Her injuries are a direct consequence of your blabbing. I’ll see what I can charge you with, you poncey arsewipe.’

  Rollo-Smith laughed. ‘I’d love to see it.’

  Chantal narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Tell me. Inspector Quaresma. Your mate João. Was he really inept or had you two come to some sort of understanding? A wee buddy deal to cover over what one of your officers was up to?’ She stuck her tongue in her cheek.

  ‘This isn’t the end of the matter.’ Rollo-Smith turned on his heels and marched off, pressing a mobile to his ear.

  ‘Right, well, that’s the end of that, then.’ Sh
aron snatched the phone from Chantal. ‘Time you two were out of here.’

  NINETY

  Hunter

  Hunter held the door open for Chantal. The hospital corridor stank of cleaning chemicals and boiled cabbage, like every public building the world over. ‘So, we’re out of the closet, then?’

  ‘We are. You’ve got what you wanted.’

  He sighed. ‘Have I? Where does that leave us?’

  ‘You tell me, Craig.’

  ‘I meant about us at work.’

  ‘Wait and see. Shaz’s got approval for another DS.’

  ‘Does that mean no more uniform?’

  ‘Correct.’

  He nodded away to himself, then sighed again. ‘It’s for the best. You know that, right?’

  She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. ‘I know.’ Then she sped off down the corridor towards the ward, where Dr Yule was chatting to PC Lenny Warner. She nodded at Hunter, as he caught up with Chantal mere yards in front of the doctor. ‘Well, I might as well tell you both . . .’ She left a long enough pause to made Hunter think that Paisley was dead. ‘She’s not in a critical condition. Ms Sanderson will, however, require skin grafts. She’s suffered some very serious injuries.’ She narrowed her eyes at Hunter. ‘I wish you’d caught the barbarian who did this to her.’

  Chantal nodded. ‘We have.’

  ‘I meant in time. Before he did this.’

  Hunter looked her deep in the eye. ‘Believe me, so do I.’

  Warner beamed at Yule, his gregarious grin seeming to dilute the bile pouring out of the woman. ‘C’mon, Helen, I think those two upstanding members of the community deserve a few quiet moments with the girl. Is that alright with you, love?’

  Hunter folded his arms. That cheeky charmer, but good on him for wooing the grumpy gate-keeper. He nodded at Dr Yule. ‘A couple of minutes, at the very most.’

  ‘Very well.’ Yule paced over and opened a door.

  Paisley lay on the bed, the left half of her face covered by a bandage. As soon as she made eye contact with Hunter, she looked away.

  Hunter didn’t want to invade the frazzled woman’s space, so was careful to keep a decent distance. ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘I’m fucked. Thanks to you. My skin’s burnt. I need grafts. Who’s going to want me after that, eh?’

  ‘Paisley, we’ve charged Mr Tulloch with multiple assaults on you, as well as a series of domestic abuse charges.’

  ‘Oh cheers! Just means I’ve got to go through it all again in court. With him standing there. His mates will kill me!’

  ‘It’s all going to be taken care of, Paisley.’

  ‘That’s bullshit. You’re going to mess it up and let him go!’ Her defiant resolve was about to crumble.

  ‘I know it’s difficult to process and you’re thinking of all the bad things that can happen, but the army will court martial him. Then he’ll face charges in Portugal relating to a rape he committed there.’

  Paisley flinched. ‘A rape?

  ‘He’s not going to get out of prison for a very long time, if ever.’

  ‘He raped someone?’

  ‘A Northern Irish woman. He spiked her drink and forced himself on her in his hotel room, then abused her while she was unconscious.’

  ‘That’s not what he did with me.’

  Chantal nodded. ‘Or with Anna, Erica, Kylie or Jane. He changed his MO and . . .’

  ‘That cheating bastard!’

  What. The. Hell?

  Trapped her in an abusive relationship. Raped her on video. Put her in hospital. Twice. And she’s not angry that he raped someone else, but that he even had sex with someone else?

  Hunter sat in front of her. ‘Look, he’s going away for a long time. It’s not going to be easy for you, but we’ll have to take detailed statements over the next few weeks from all concerned. And one of these statements will have to come from you. When you’re better.’

  Paisley’s eyes clouded over with a look of furious hurt. ‘Do you have any idea what this feels like? Having my life torn apart like this? How could he do this to me?’

  Chantal nodded again, slowly this time. ‘I do.’ She fiddled with her blouse collar. ‘I was abused when I was a girl. By my uncle. It took me a long time, but eventually I spoke out about it. I remember the police coming around to our house. I spoke to them, told them everything . . . My uncle died in prison. Someone stabbed him, missed his heart, but got his kidneys. He suffered for a few months. I watched him waste away, suffering every day. I don’t regret it for one second.’

  Paisley started crying.

  And it didn’t look like she was going to stop any time soon.

  * * *

  Hunter stepped into the breeze. Chantal took a halting breath as she marched past him up the street. Still a bloody mystery what goes on in her head sometimes . . .

  Hunter joined her on the top step and pressed the doorbell, the bitter wind blowing through him like it was midwinter. He turned around and soaked in the view across the south of Corstorphine, Edinburgh’s west side, and miles from its best. The May sun finally decided to show its face, rising over the wall of clouds above the Pentlands on the horizon, light raining down like shards of glass. A rainbow climbed into the moody sky from the IKEA at Straiton just behind the Braid hills.

  Chantal hammered on the door. ‘Is she in or what?’

  ‘Give her a minute.’ Hunter tucked his jacket in tight. ‘By the way, I appreciate you talking to Sharon about . . . us.’

  She smiled. ‘I feel a lot better about it.’ Punctuated the statement with a shrug. ‘Don’t know why I didn’t do it earlier.’

  ‘Because you’re messed up?’

  ‘Well, other than that.’ Chantal pressed the bell again. ‘This, however, doesn’t get any easier.’

  ‘What, working with me?’

  She gave him a little smile, then pointed at the door. ‘No, this.’

  ‘Right.’

  The door flew open and Mary Sinclair stood there, a navy apron covering a yellow polo neck. Thai cooking smells wafted out. She frowned at Hunter. ‘Craig? What’s happened?’

  ‘I need to have a word with you, Mary.’ Hunter grimaced at her. ‘Inside.’

  Mary’s hands shot to her face. ‘What’s happened?’

  Hunter took a deep breath, then looked her straight in the eye. ‘Let’s do this inside.’

  CRAIG HUNTER WILL RETURN IN

  “HISTORY”

  (Craig Hunter Book 3)

  Available 2018

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  Afterword

  Thanks for editing go to Russel D McLean and Allan Guthrie.

  Thanks to James Mackay and Brian Rollo-Smith for technical help.

  +1 thanks goes to Len Wanner for all manner of editing throughout the book and definitely blinding yourself during the process this time…

  Thanks to James Maxwell, Marcus Wearmouth and Brian Rollo-Smith for letting me use their names here.

  An important source for the PTSD elements in this book was “Aftershock: The Untold Story of Surviving Peace” by Matthew Green. A chilling book. Get it here — http://amzn.to/2m7yC40.

  And I promise I’ll write the eighth Cullen book very soon. Promise!

  One final note, if you could find time to leave a review where you bought this, I'd really appreciate it — reviews really help indie authors like myself.

  — Ed James

  East Lothian, March 2017

  Speak to me — I don't bite!

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  OTHER BOOKS BY ED J
AMES

  SCOTT CULLEN MYSTERIES SERIES

  1GHOST IN THE MACHINE

  2DEVIL IN THE DETAIL

  3FIRE IN THE BLOOD

  4DYED IN THE WOOL

  5BOTTLENECK

  6WINDCHILL

  7COWBOYS & INDIANS

  8HEROES & VILLAINS (Summer 2017)

  CRAIG HUNTER SERIES

  1MISSING

  2HUNTED

  DI SIMON FENCHURCH SERIES

  1THE HOPE THAT KILLS

  2WORTH KILLING FOR

  3WHAT DOESN’T KILL YOU

  DS VICKY DODDS SERIES

  1SNARED

  SUPERNATURE SERIES

  Writing as Edwin James

  1SHOT THROUGH THE HEART

  2JUST WALKING THE DEAD (a novella)

  Meet Scott Cullen…

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  About Ed James

  Ed James writes crime-fiction novels.

  His Scott Cullen series features a young Edinburgh detective constable investigating crimes from the bottom rung of the career ladder he’s desperate to climb.

  His Craig Hunter series feature an ex-forces cop investigating sexual offences in Scotland.

  Set four hundred miles south on the streets of East London, his DI Simon Fenchurch trilogy features a detective with little to lose, fighting to uncover the conspiracy that tore his family apart.

  Formerly an IT manager, Ed began writing on planes, trains and automobiles to fill his weekly commute to London. He now writes full-time and lives in East Lothian, Scotland, with his girlfriend and a menagerie of rescued animals.

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