Craig Hunter Books 1-3 Read online

  Craig Hunter

  Boxed Set

  Ed James

  Copyright © 2016-19 Ed James

  * * *

  The right of Ed James to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved.

  * * *

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or transmitted into any retrieval system, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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  Cover design copyright © Ed James

  Other Books By Ed James

  SCOTT CULLEN MYSTERIES SERIES

  GHOST IN THE MACHINE

  DEVIL IN THE DETAIL

  FIRE IN THE BLOOD

  STAB IN THE DARK

  COPS & ROBBERS

  LIARS & THIEVES

  COWBOYS & INDIANS

  HEROES & VILLAINS

  CULLEN & BAIN SERIES

  CITY OF THE DEAD

  WORLD’S END

  HELL’S KITCHEN

  GORE GLEN (November 2020)

  CRAIG HUNTER SERIES

  MISSING

  HUNTED

  THE BLACK ISLE

  DS VICKY DODDS

  BLOOD & GUTS

  TOOTH & CLAW

  FLESH & BLOOD

  SKIN & BONE

  DI SIMON FENCHURCH SERIES

  THE HOPE THAT KILLS

  WORTH KILLING FOR

  WHAT DOESN’T KILL YOU

  IN FOR THE KILL

  KILL WITH KINDNESS

  KILL THE MESSENGER

  DEAD MAN’S SHOES

  CORCORAN & PALMER

  SENSELESS

  Contents

  Missing

  Dedication

  Day 1

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Day 2

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Day 3

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Four weeks later

  Chapter 45

  Hunted

  Day 1

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Day 2

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Day 3

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Day 4

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Chapter 92

  Chapter 93

  Chapter 94

  Chapter 95

  Chapter 96

  Chapter 97

  Chapter 98

  Chapter 99

  Chapter 100

  The Black Isle

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Next book

  About the Author

  Other Books By Ed James

  Missing

  For Len

  Day 1

  Tuesday

  11th August

  1

  ‘Come back here, you little bugger!’ Police Constable Craig Hunter darted left to follow his prey into a room at the back of the house, his heavy boots clumping off the stripped-wood flooring. He stopped dead, his footsteps echoing around the stark room. White walls, old floorboards
varnished mid-brown and a single bed in the corner.

  No sign of him.

  The sash window hung open. Chest heaving, Hunter ran over and leaned out to scan the sandstone walls of the old farmhouse. A towering oak tree blocked out most of the sunlight, the gnarled branches like fingers plucking at the sky.

  Still no bloody sign of him. Where is he?

  The summer breeze cooled his damp forehead, as he rubbed the sweat off with his forearm, soaking the thick hair.

  Below, the walled garden was alive with colourful fruit trees pruned into perfect bowl shapes, all swaying in a ceilidh dance formation. Over the top of the wall, the Sphinx-like bulge of Arthur’s Seat loomed in the distance, casting judgment on Edinburgh and the surrounding Lothians. Nearer, a white car bombed down the road, screeching as it pulled into a side street, Shawfair sprawling around them. Some politician’s idea of a new town — the whole place was a building site and would only go downhill from there.

  Hunter looked around the garden again. The front gate was hanging open, but no sign of Finlay there, either.

  He can’t have got away, surely?

  Crack. A tiny branch tumbled to the ground, landing on a mossed-over flagstone.

  He was climbing down the far side of the tree.

  Hunter pushed out, propping his hands against the ancient bark, and looked for any footholds on the tree.

  Not enough time to go back through the house without losing him. Bugger it — just ignore the twenty-foot drop.

  Hunter rested his weight on the sill and touched one big boot onto the branch. The tree gave a muted creak, but it stayed firm. Seemed steady enough. Just about.

  Hunter wedged his palms into the window casing and stretched out his left foot, giving the branch a good dunt as his fingertips tightened around the pane. A shard of old paint jabbed under his left thumb nail.

  Just what I bloody need…

  The tree took all of his weight, sixteen stone of idiot. At least they were mostly muscle. He held tight, getting his bearings. Felt like the branch could take another couple of idiots. Thank God for all those burpees.

  Hunter inched forward, his stab-proof vest rattling. The tree moaned again.

  Christ…

  Hunter kept his body low and kept moving, his fingers tracing the knots on the bark, ready to grip at any second. A gust of wind blew through him and his peaked cap fell to the ground, spinning like a wheeling bird as it went.

  Bollocks…

  Hunter reached the trunk and hugged it close, the stab-proof vest pressing into him and digging half a dozen bits of equipment into his ribs. He looked around the garden, sucking in deep breaths.

  Where the hell—

  There he was, not far from the ground. Christ.

  Halfway down to a thicker branch than the one Hunter stood on, was a sawn-off stump. He eased himself down, supporting his weight on his hands like an old man getting into the bath, and reached his feet down.

  Careful… Keep it nice and steady… Not like your usual—

  The wood creaked and the rough bark dug into his palms. Definitely a cut there.

  He lowered himself, inches at a time, his upper arms and hands burning as he let the half-branch take his weight. He blinked as the sun disappeared behind the clouds, letting his eyes adjust to the light. Another blast of Scottish summer wind hit him, carrying a fug of distant cigarette smoke mixed with second-hand diesel and the deep mud stink of a building site.

  Where the hell is the little chancer?

  There. Standing near the edge of the branch, staring back at him, looking ready to jump.

  Hunter lurched forwards and grasped with both hands.

  ‘Mraowr!’ The fat tabby cat squirmed in his grasp. It swung its hind legs up, scratching with its sharp talons and drawing blood. ‘Hchhhhh!’

  ‘You little shite!’ Hunter pinched the scruff of the cat’s neck.

  It stopped raking with its claws and went limp, all four legs hanging loose. Rebuking eyes struggled to look at him.

  Got you.

  Hunter supported the cat’s legs and looked around the garden. Still no sign of—

  A sash window clattered open. ‘Officer! Over here!’ Mrs Carstairs was reaching out to him, the loose skin on her hands speckled with liver spots. ‘Is my wee boy okay?’

  ‘He’s fine.’ Hunter kept a firm grip on the cat’s neck as he leaned forward, a gentle shove encouraging the little guy to move towards his distressed owner. The tree creaked. ‘Here, can you take him?’

  ‘Of course I can.’ She took the squirming cat and hugged him close. ‘Oh, Pickle, my poor wee angel.’

  ‘I wouldn’t let him out again, Mrs Carstairs.’ Hunter tried to stand up, but near enough lost his footing. He crouched low and pulled himself tight to the branch.

  That was close.

  Hunter thumbed over the tall stone walls. ‘It’s a busy road there. Lots of construction traffic and he could get—’

  ‘Of course.’ Lost in the world of Pickle, she slammed the window with a rattle.

  A “thank you” wouldn’t have gone amiss…

  Hunter inspected his hands. A red gash ran across one, like a new life line or whatever palm readers went on about. Blood dripped from his thumbnail. A latticework of smaller cuts ran over his wrist and up his forearm.

  Little bugger.

  Hunter sucked at the deepest wound as he crept back to the trunk. He looked down, trying to—

  You’re bloody kidding me…

  A series of handholds was dug into the tree, running all the way to the ground, some worn and rusty, others overgrown and set deep into the trunk. Looked like more than enough to get down, though. He gripped the first one and lowered his left foot until it connected with something solid, dull metal ringing out into the warm afternoon. Then he started climbing down, accompanied by slow handclaps.

  ‘The mighty detective at work.’

  Hunter dropped the last few feet to the ground and stayed focused on the tree bark, sucking the fresh blood from his wounds. ‘That cat was a vicious little bugger.’ He swung round and rubbed at his thumb.

  ‘Well, it certainly met its match.’ PC Finlay Sinclair folded his arms across his chest, his standard-issue Police Scotland T-shirt turned up at the cuffs to show off his biceps. Disco muscles let down by the beer gut poking out of the bottom. ‘Oh, and you lost this.’ He tossed something over.

  Hunter caught it — his cap. Dust motes leapt off it and briefly danced in a flash of sunlight, before quickly dispersing in the breeze. He put the cap back on, pulling it tight. ‘You cleared off sharpish.’

  ‘Saw it was just a cat, mate. No point wasting our time. Can we get onto some more important police work now, please?’

  Hunter nodded over at the sprawling Victorian mansion and the steading conversion going on behind it. ‘She thinks this is important.’

  ‘Aye, well, not important enough to thank you.’

  Hunter started back down the path towards their squad Focus. Shards of light bounced off the white paint, the blue-and-yellow regalia streaked with pigeon crap. The lower half looked like it’d been through a carwash that sprayed mud. ‘You going to call it in?’

  Finlay winked at him as he caressed his Airwave radio’s screen. ‘Got that interview, have you?’

  Hunter plipped the car’s lock and hauled the door open. ‘That’s just a rumour.’