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Extract from Hunter's Blood

The next exciting novel featuring my protagonist DI Hunter Wilson, Hunter's Blood is available on Amazon. You can read an extract from the novel here. Enjoy!

The Blurb

DI Hunter Wilson never has just one problem to solve. He finds three elderly women he knows dead in mysterious circumstances. A little girl is lost on a cold winter night and then his team finds cocaine hidden around the farm where she is living. Hunter is worried that he cannot keep his family safe.

Why did the women die? What did the child witness?

Hunter must find the answers to these questions to ensure his family and his city are safe.

The Extract

“You will never believe it,” the desk sergeant shouted across the station reception.

“Probably not, but try me,” Hunter said, walking across the room slowly. He had just !nished donating blood at the NHS van that was parked in the station car park and, as Charlie Middleton was as well known for his practical jokes as for his cheeky wit, Hunter was not sure he wanted to cope with either. He was certainly as cautious as he was reluctant to be the butt of Charlie's humour.

“You know that central call handling system some genius put in place when we all became the one big happy family that is Police Scotland?”

“Yes Charlie,” Hunter said in a weary voice.

“Well, my boys were sent out to George Square, you know, University of Edinburgh territory, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“Well, they get told there’s some numpty " flashing his dick at young women.”

“Clever,” Hunter said sarcastically.

“They get there and the only thing that greets them is Irish Mick, fresh out of HMP Edinburgh sitting on a bench singing Danny Boy. They know he’s too drunk to stand never mind show off his wares and there’s not a young woman in sight.”

“What happened? Apart from Irish Mick ending up back in the slammer, I mean,” Hunter asked.

“They contacted call handling, it was all kicking off in George Square, Glasgow – not here at all. The prick on the end of the phone forgot to get a postcode, so they just assumed it was here. I bloody ask you; the service is all going to hell in a hand cart. Good job it’s not long till I retire.”

“Well, that’s two things we agree on, Charlie,” Hunter smiled. “Piss off,” Charlie grinned. “You’ll miss me when I’m gone.”

“Like toothache,” Hunter quipped. “If you see DC Anderson, tell her I’m looking for her, will you?”

“No problem,” Charlie smiled and got back to the paper‐ work on his desk. Charlie was checking the form of the horses for tomorrow's racing. He hoped to get his choices made before the Friday evening influx of the feral and feeble-minded that, experience told him, would inhabit his cells before the night was out. Charlie took the view that almost half of those collared would be there to avoid a chilly night on the streets, and a similar number would be there because of the demon drink.

“Only three or four of those who darken our doors are truly criminal material, you know, Neil. The rest of them are just in out of the rain,” Charlie said.

“What's that, Sarge?” PC Neil Larkin asked.

“I said, I could do with a cuppa,” Charlie said.

“I'll make the tea,” Neil sighed. The door swung shut behind Neil. Then the phone rang and a bare-footed, elegant woman dressed in silk pyjamas entered the reception area. Not for the first time, Charlie wished he had turned his back on rank, and that he had made the drinks instead of getting Neil to do it.

“Police Scotland, how can I help?” Charlie said into the phone, determined to ignore the woman.

“Well, I seem to have left my slippers upstairs. Could you fetch them for me, there's a dear?” The woman smiled.

“Dear God,” Charlie muttered.

“No, not you, sir. What can I do for you?” He listened to the educated voice on the other end of the line.

“You've lost what?” he asked gruf!y.

“Nothing, Sarge, I brought you a biscuit,” Neil replied opening the reception door with his rear.

“Just put it there,” he said to Neil as he stood with the mugs of hot tea.

“No, sir not you, yes of course I'm listening.”

“Sorry, Sarge, I thought you were talking to me,” Neil muttered.

“Just shut up, will you?” Charlie glared at Neil.

“No, not you, sir. Now what did you say has gone missing? An ostrich egg? Really, sir? Of course, part of a valuable collection, I'm sure,” Charlie turned to Neil, covered the mouthpiece of the phone and said, “It is far too early for all this fucking nonsense. Posh bastards start drinking earlier and earlier and we get the thin end of their nonsense. Phone the police – my ostrich egg is missing – I bloody ask you.” He took his hand away from the phone and said, “Yes, sir. I'm listening.”

“Tea! Delicious. What a good idea,” the elegant woman reached forward and helped herself to Charlie's drink. She took a sip and screwed up her face.

“Oh, blast! You've put sugar in it, you know I haven't taken sugar for twenty years! And where are my slippers? Is this biscuit for me? Delicious.”

Hunter walked back into reception. “Sandra?”

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