family room in a motel not too far from the hospital and he had spent a restless night going over the events in his head. The more he had mulled over the incident the more he made connections with yesterday morning’s clash between his father and that stranger and this aftermath.
Now he had another long day before him at the hospital unable to make any in-roads into finding out who was responsible for doing this to his parents.
Beth and the boy’s were flitting between Ward Two, where his mum was ‘comfortable and stable,’ and the side ward where his dad was resting. He was having trouble being in the same room as his father; he wouldn’t say anything. He had tried to be patient in his approach but he knew his dad was holding back on some secret and was refusing to give it up. It had got to the stage where his father lay with eyes shut, refusing to answer any of his questions.
Several times he had tried to call the number he had rung last night but it was now switched off, and on divert and his head was swimming around in circles.
He strolled down to the drinks machine on the floor below even though he hated drinking out of plastic cups and dropped his loose change into the slot. They were out of tea, milk one sugar. He kicked the bottom panel and growled. Then his mobile rang. He viewed the screen; ‘withheld’ flashed up; he guessed who this was – he would be ringing from one of the office phones.
“Hello – Hunter” he answered.
“Hunter it’s me.”
He recognised the broad South Yorkshire dialect immediately. “Have you got anything for me?”
“Afraid not. I’ve made quite a few phone calls but there’s not a whisper down here. I also went round to all of the Paynton’s houses, and the locks-ups they have access to, but there’s no sign of a silver BM. And everyone I spoke with yesterday have never seen any of the family in one. I’ve checked with Intelligence and nothing with that part registration features on our system. It’s a complete blank at the moment but I’ve put a few feelers out so if I turn up anything I’ll bell you. Okay?”
Despondently Hunter thanked him and rang off; though he knew shouldn’t feel down. If any villains from his ‘back yard’ had carried this out then he knew his source would get to hear. He would have to rely on that for the moment - well until he could get back to base and then he would shake some trees himself.
- ooOoo –
CHAPTER THREE
DAY FOUR: 27 th August.
Glasgow.
Fraser Cullen kept in the shadows, pressing himself against the crumbling brickwork of the high walls at the entranceway to the derelict car park. He lit up another cigarette; he’d only just finished the last one – but then he was more nervous than normal.
He pulled up the collar of his jacket. Was it his imagination or had the temperature dropped since his arrival half an hour ago? It had to be the dampness of his surroundings he told himself.
Every time he heard the sound of a car’s engine he stuck his head out from his hiding place and scoured the partly cobbled street of Sauchiehall Lane. Fraser glanced at his stolen designer watch; he’d give them another ten minutes then he was off.
He almost missed the silver BMW; it coasted past, hardly making a sound. He took a final drag on his cigarette, dropped the burning remnant, and scrunched it underfoot, before he stepped out into the lane.
The car reversed and pulled alongside Fraser, its wheels scrunching over loose chippings, the rubber walls of the nearside tyres squealing as they scraped against the kerb. Fraser bent down dispersing the smoke from his lungs as the passenger window slid down.
The front passenger wafted a hand in front of his mouth and nose. “Fucking hell do you have to do that?” he exclaimed.
The deep gravelly tones in the voice of the man had not changed, not even after all this time
Now he had another long day before him at the hospital unable to make any in-roads into finding out who was responsible for doing this to his parents.
Beth and the boy’s were flitting between Ward Two, where his mum was ‘comfortable and stable,’ and the side ward where his dad was resting. He was having trouble being in the same room as his father; he wouldn’t say anything. He had tried to be patient in his approach but he knew his dad was holding back on some secret and was refusing to give it up. It had got to the stage where his father lay with eyes shut, refusing to answer any of his questions.
Several times he had tried to call the number he had rung last night but it was now switched off, and on divert and his head was swimming around in circles.
He strolled down to the drinks machine on the floor below even though he hated drinking out of plastic cups and dropped his loose change into the slot. They were out of tea, milk one sugar. He kicked the bottom panel and growled. Then his mobile rang. He viewed the screen; ‘withheld’ flashed up; he guessed who this was – he would be ringing from one of the office phones.
“Hello – Hunter” he answered.
“Hunter it’s me.”
He recognised the broad South Yorkshire dialect immediately. “Have you got anything for me?”
“Afraid not. I’ve made quite a few phone calls but there’s not a whisper down here. I also went round to all of the Paynton’s houses, and the locks-ups they have access to, but there’s no sign of a silver BM. And everyone I spoke with yesterday have never seen any of the family in one. I’ve checked with Intelligence and nothing with that part registration features on our system. It’s a complete blank at the moment but I’ve put a few feelers out so if I turn up anything I’ll bell you. Okay?”
Despondently Hunter thanked him and rang off; though he knew shouldn’t feel down. If any villains from his ‘back yard’ had carried this out then he knew his source would get to hear. He would have to rely on that for the moment - well until he could get back to base and then he would shake some trees himself.
- ooOoo –
CHAPTER THREE
DAY FOUR: 27 th August.
Glasgow.
Fraser Cullen kept in the shadows, pressing himself against the crumbling brickwork of the high walls at the entranceway to the derelict car park. He lit up another cigarette; he’d only just finished the last one – but then he was more nervous than normal.
He pulled up the collar of his jacket. Was it his imagination or had the temperature dropped since his arrival half an hour ago? It had to be the dampness of his surroundings he told himself.
Every time he heard the sound of a car’s engine he stuck his head out from his hiding place and scoured the partly cobbled street of Sauchiehall Lane. Fraser glanced at his stolen designer watch; he’d give them another ten minutes then he was off.
He almost missed the silver BMW; it coasted past, hardly making a sound. He took a final drag on his cigarette, dropped the burning remnant, and scrunched it underfoot, before he stepped out into the lane.
The car reversed and pulled alongside Fraser, its wheels scrunching over loose chippings, the rubber walls of the nearside tyres squealing as they scraped against the kerb. Fraser bent down dispersing the smoke from his lungs as the passenger window slid down.
The front passenger wafted a hand in front of his mouth and nose. “Fucking hell do you have to do that?” he exclaimed.
The deep gravelly tones in the voice of the man had not changed, not even after all this time
Similar Books
