Windsor Place

Chapter 1

Harry Cram hid in the shadows of the post office doorway across the road, awaiting the usual code, three rings on his cell phone, that would indicate that it was clear to enter the house. He sensed that something was wrong; the call was now five minutes late. The light that normally illuminated the entrance was out, and there were no other signs of life other than smoke creeping out of the chimney. This was most unusual for a Friday evening at Sixty-Six Windsor Place.

Carole Hunter’s house was situated at the end of an ordinary street on the outskirts of the small coastal town of Portobello, some three miles east of the centre of Edinburgh and a seaside favourite of the city’s residents.

It was a grand house, with some great memories for Harry. But a previous owner had it painted black on the outside making it look like some scary Gothic building. It looked worse in the evening. It was probably owned at some stage by a contemporary artist who enjoyed spoiling ordinary people’s perception of art with their selfish opinion of the world and all its ‘connections.’

Harry had just finished another full week in the office and parked his car several streets away in his apartment car park as he did every Friday evening. He strolled discreetly towards the home of Carole, his latest girlfriend whom he had taken up with after his second marriage had failed miserably.

Although he lived only five minutes away, he was very aware of covering his tracks. So, each weekend he took a different route to Carole’s place. It would be easy for someone to follow him if he trod a regular path – on Friday nights in particular.

Harry Cram, known as Metro to his close friends, was popular among the local community and particularly the women. This meant he had to be careful with the men as they were somewhat jealous of his great looks, six-foot-two stature and popularity as well as his Aussie accent. In fact, some people described him as the classic metrosexual; meticulous about his appearance and spending lots of money and time on his image and lifestyle. Perhaps this was the main reason that he was attractive to most females.

After spending many years living in Australia, he had settled back into life in Edinburgh some five years ago and was content pursuing his investigative journalist career. Edinburgh offered many opportunities to add to his experience, especially in finance and sport. They were his fields of expertise and definitely safer than drugs. Although he had to occasionally take on some private detective work to supplement his income and pay his mortgage.

Harry was also sometimes assisted in his investigations by his lifelong friend DCI James Scully. They’d attended school together, and his friend’s current job title was of great assistance to him in his current profession.

Carole Hunter was an attractive brunette, 39-years-old with two lovely teenagers.

She was married to one of Edinburgh’s hardest criminals who was presently serving a long prison sentence. Her affair with Harry was only known to themselves, and they took great care to cover their tracks from her husband’s outside contacts.

Carole was also madly in love with Harry and looking for something more permanent than the regular secret weekend meetings in Portobello.

Harry felt very strongly towards her but was not interested in marriage for the third time. Besides, he doubted whether her husband would approve from within his cell at Edinburgh’s Saughton Prison.

Maybe something had happened to Carole’s mother, who was currently in a nursing home in Musselburgh, that caused Carole to leave in a hurry. It had to be urgent, as she would normally tell him of any change of plans well in advance. Anyway, he could use his key and call Carole from her landline.

What if she were being terrorised by someone? What if she were being held hostage? What if she had had an accident? If he waited, it might put her life in danger. This was the first time ever she had failed to ring three times. Maybe her life was in danger, right now. He hesitated and wondered if he was overreacting or should he call his friend DCI Scully and let the police deal with whatever was going down.

Harry decided at that moment that he could not take that risk. He had to act and act now.

He crossed the road, and as he opened the front door, he felt a sudden sensation of fear as the reality that something might be very wrong crept over his entire body and mind.

What he found inside would change his life forever.

Chapter 2

Harry had received a phone call from an old friend, Bryson Kidd in October twelve months earlier asking to visit him in Saughton Prison. He’d had some issues with his son on the outside and wanted Harry’s help, as they had been friends during their teenage years and you always looked after a good mate.

Bryson was a harmless small-time criminal whose forte was domestic burglary and sometimes engaging in a bit of fencing of stolen goods on the side. He wasn’t very smart and didn’t know if UB40 was a rock group or a form to sign on the dole. Guess if he had to choose, he would have gone for the latter as he had filled it in many times during his career.

Currently, he was doing a five-year stretch for breaking and entering and had decided that on his release in a few months, it was finally time to give it all up and try to live a normal life with a steady job. He also hoped to pick back up with his most recent girlfriend and more importantly, makeup with his estranged son.

Bryson was a great ladies man. In fact, he was so far up himself people remarked that if he was chocolate, he would eat himself. Despite all that, he was a likeable rogue and never really harmed anyone. He lived in a make-believe world – with his boyhood hero being the legendary Bob Hope – and truly believed that he was destined for stardom.

Edinburgh rarely offered those opportunities, except for a few, Sean Connery, The Proclaimers, Ewan McGregor and Ronnie Corbett.

Bryson explained to Harry that his son Tony was running drugs for Alf Hunter on the Southside and thought that he had turned to using himself – much to the consternation of the main dealers and their bosses.

Drugs were a massive problem in Edinburgh and Bryson was not sure he could help. But he could listen.

You pay the ultimate price when you cross Alf Hunter. He was as mad as a cut snake. Many characters in the Edinburgh underworld had recently mysteriously disappeared, never to be found and they all had one thing in common; they had all dealt with Alf Hunter.

Tony was now living and hiding in the high-rise flats in Craigmillar which was definitely not one of the best addresses in town. It would not be long before Alf’s henchmen sussed him out for a possible meeting with St. Peter.

The flats had recently been taken over by the local druggies and appeared abandoned by the council. It had also been home to Tony for some three months.

Before he left the prison, Harry promised to look Tony up and see what he could do to help him. As an old friend, he owed it to Bryson.

As they were talking, he couldn’t help notice the extremely attractive female visitor sitting adjacent to him who looked somewhat familiar. He knew her from somewhere but couldn’t think where. In his line of work, he met many people, and it was impossible to remember them all, but this one was sitting at the top of the tree.

She seemed somewhat disinterested in the person she was visiting. Her light blue eyes were darting around all over the place as though she was expecting trouble at any minute.

That was not surprising, given that the person opposite her was the infamous local villain Alf Hunter, who was someone you did not mess with. ‘Billy Bunter’ as he was known, due to his voracious appetite for among other things, scotch pies, fish suppers and Irn Bru. He was Edinburgh’s hardest and most sadistic criminal, and his twenty-year sentence without parole along with his one hundred and forty-five kilos did not concern him. Life in or out was all the same to him. He just missed a few pleasures inside.

Dressed in a smart blue pin stripe two-piece suit with beautifully groomed short black hair, Alf’s visitor looked more like a solicitor than a con’s partner. Maybe she was.

She looked out of place amongst the regular visitors, and the females did not miss their men sneaking lustful glances at her.

He tried to concentrate on Bryson and his predicament, but his male hunting senses couldn’t stop him doing the same as the prisoners. Hopefully, he was being discreet, unlike the prisoners and she would not notice his obvious interest not only in her beautiful shape and demeanour but the fact that he was sure he knew her.

As visiting hours ended, he said goodbye to Bryson and promised he would talk to his son.

As he left the prison and headed towards his car, Harry’s thoughts were split between his long-time friend in prison, his son and the lady he thought he recognised but could not place.

As he inserted his ticket into the machine to pay for the parking, he noticed the same attractive young female waiting at the entrance to the car park. As he approached, she raised her hand in a stop gesture. I am sorry if I seem a bit forward, but you’re Harry Cram, aren’t you? she asked.

Time to play it cool. Who wants to know lady?

Carole, Carole Baxter, thought I recognised you inside, but maybe I was mistaken. The guy I knew was polite and friendly.

He recognised her now. Very wise when you are approached by a stranger. Particularly outside a prison to proceed with caution as they say in the movies. Long time, no see Carole. Must be over twenty years since we both left Portobello High? Small world eh, I saw you inside. You looked familiar, but I just couldn’t place you.

I take it as you are entering the car park you must be driving and thought you might like to offer a lady a lift?

I am parked over there. he pointed towards his car. I would be happy to give you a lift. Where to?

Portobello.

Gotta pass there actually, going to Musselburgh. Sure your husband won’t mind?

I don’t think they let them out from Saughton for Saturday night drinks in town anymore.

They sat in silence for a few minutes as Harry drove out the car park and turned right onto Sighthill Road heading towards town.

Well, twenty years, amazing. You lived here all that time? asked Carole. Nope. Spent the last twenty years in Australia and China before deciding last year that Scotland is home. Where about in Portobello do you live?

Windsor Place, First right after the Bath Street intersection.

Which number?

Sixty-Six.

Harry drove along George Street admiring the beautiful Georgian heritage buildings as well as a wonderful set of legs only a touch away and trying to decide should he drive through Leith or Abbeyhill to get to their destination.

He decided that Abbeyhill would have less traffic during the week and besides he loved driving past Meadowbank Stadium. It brought back great memories for him in his younger years in football, winning two cup finals and a man of the match award. Gosh, it seemed such a long time ago now.

You tied up with Alf Hunter or just doing your community bit and visiting lonely prisoners?

Funny. Ha ha. I got involved with Alf some five years back. Married to him now, the biggest regret in my life apart from letting you slip out of my fingers. Impossible to break the shackles. Now my life is miserable.

Harry could see someone in those eyes crying out for help, but at the same time, he was firmly in two minds as to whether to wholly believe her or not.

Carole was impressed. She hadn’t been in the company of such a good-looking bloke in ages. He appeared the gentle type through his lovely blue eyes and had a lovely smile. His blonde hair was cut short on the sides but wavy and long on top. Clean-shaven with a lovely tan and immaculately dressed, he could have been a movie star. His blue Audi R8 coupe was also impressive along with the luxurious leather interior. No wedding ring, but that didn’t mean much these days. She had decided at that moment that she wasn’t going to let him slip through her fingers again.

She swivelled around and looked directly at him. And you Harry, what are your weaknesses?

Fast cars, fine whisky and beautiful women and not necessarily in that order.

Bit of a player, eh?

Not really, just an average man.

They manoeuvred through the heavy late afternoon traffic and then sat in the congestion at the Jocks Lodge intersection. His thoughts swung back to their destination.

The next obstacle was the lights at the busy intersection of Kings Road. Surprisingly the traffic was flowing quite well as they turned right into Portobello High Street which was as ever extremely busy.

It was looking a bit tired, but it always did in winter. Unlike the old days in summer when families flocked here on weekends to catch what sun there was and the long stretch of unbroken sand. Where the kids played for hours or enjoyed the excitement of the fun fairs on the promenade. Well, that’s the way he remembered it in his school days. Somehow, he imagined it wouldn’t be the same today.

Turn first right after the lights at Bath Street, Carole pointed.

He said nothing.

Windsor Place was a small street running directly off the High Street. There was a church on the corner and a post office half way down the street; the rest was housing. A balanced mixture of stand-alone homes and low rise flats. Always hard to find a car space he pulled over and double parked outside number sixty-six, just as it started to rain.

Well, Harry, if someone had told me that today I would have met my favourite old boyfriend while visiting my partner in prison I would have laughed all the way home.

But you didn’t.

Look, I appreciate the lift and would love to catch up with you again. My sister Joanne will be home looking after my two girls and anxious to be released to get ready to rage tonight, so I can’t hang around. Can we meet again, soon?

Sure. He gave Carole his business card. "Call me on that mobile. If you can’t get through leave a message and I will call you back."

Great to see you again Harry, until next time.

He watched her glide over the pavement, open the gate, turn and wave. My God, she was stunning. The more he saw, the more he liked. He was always amazed how some ordinary looking teenagers turned into beautiful women. He had witnessed that today.

He sat for a few minutes just savouring the moment.

Chapter 3

Harry’s thoughts switched back from that day last year to the matter at hand.

His intimate knowledge of the house layout enabled him to quickly find the alarm system in the dark. It was disabled, as was the electricity. What was going on? He called out to Carole, his voice bouncing off the walls.

Using his fingers as sensors, he trailed along the walls to the lounge room to find the rubber torch he had previously hidden behind the sofa as well as the baseball bat. Just in case he might need them.

The lounge room was in turmoil. Chairs were upended around the room; desk drawers were left ajar. Paperwork lay in no sequence across the carpet. A heavy darkness filled the room. Acid rolled in his guts. After a long pause and a deep breath, Harry knew that he couldn’t turn back. He had to go on. He had to find out what was happening. The life that he was building he sensed was about to fall apart.

With the torch in one hand and the baseball bat in the other, he moved to the downstairs kitchen, bathroom and dining area. All seemed normal there. There were three bedrooms and a toilet upstairs.

As he stood motionless for a few seconds, his memory jumped back to his early childhood where his granny used to clean the chimney with something that sounded like human nails grating on the surface. Maybe it was. How he hated that noise, and he imagined he could hear the singing of his two sisters and his Mum and Dad chatting in the lounge.

He crept quietly from the dining area to the bottom of the stairs accompanied only by the dancing shadows on the wall caused by the torch. He dreaded going upstairs but knew he had to.

Jesus, what would he find? His mind raced again. Was he prepared for what he might find? For a second he thought about calling out again but decided this would be a bad move. If there was an intruder upstairs why give him or her an advantage.

He kept close to the wall as he slowly ascended the winding staircase while concentrating on the landing at the top. He could see the first bedroom door as he reached the last few steps. It was closed; he looked along the hallway to find the other doors also closed. He decided that it would be best to enter the furthest away door first. There was no one in the toilet, he then selected the main bedroom as his next challenge. All the bedrooms were empty, and nothing seemed out of place. Maybe the power went off, and they had decided to leave. Maybe after they had all gone out together, some kids had then entered and trashed downstairs when they couldn’t find any cash. He wished or to be more precise he prayed that might be the case.

The garage at the side of the building was his favourite spot in the house and the last place to search. Great memories of playing table tennis there for hours in the evening and at weekends occasionally beating his father and nearly always winning against anyone else.

He remembered the garage was on a separate line so the lights should work. He entered the garage through the unlocked side door leading off from the kitchen, he fumbled around and easily found the light switch and flicked it on.

Tears streamed down his face at the same time the baseball bat and torch slipped from his grasp; he wanted to scream. There was no movement; silence hung in the air as he saw three lifeless bodies sprawled across the floor. Each person had a trail of blood oozing from head wounds and the thing that he couldn’t grasp was that they all seemed to be looking directly at him with fear in their faces. Their mouths half open as if they were calling out for help.

He stood there shaking uncontrollably. His heart was fluttering, his head was in a spin and his brain was in neutral as he suddenly realised that he was witnessing a heinous cold-blooded massacre. He wanted to call out to Carole, but nothing would come out his dry and open frozen mouth.

The awful smell of death quickly filled his nostrils. He staggered out to the front of the house, rinsed the vomit from his mouth from a garden tap, then rang his lifelong friend on his mobile and waited trembling on the front step.

He didn’t hear the sirens or DCI Scully asking him if he was okay.

He took him to the ambulance and asked the paramedics to check him for shock and left PC Blackie and PC McDonald to guard him and with instructions to take him directly to the station once the paramedics had checked him over and settled him down.

The street was now utterly cluttered with police cars, ambulances and a few journalists.

Spotlights threw dancing shadows on the exterior of the building and chaos reigned. But as far as the neighbours were concerned DCI Scully was in complete control. He thought to himself at that moment how it was possible to experience your own genius.

Carole Hunter her daughter and stepdaughter, at this stage, were the only people who knew what had happened here this evening apart from their killer or killers.

Chapter 4

Alf Hunter was never happy when summoned to the Governor’s office, but it didn’t faze him as he was there on a regular basis for alleged petty crimes in prison. Which of course he never had anything to do with and was never found guilty of. There were plenty of petty criminals inside who would take the rap for him in return for favours or more importantly their safety and wellbeing.

Alf Hunter was born and brought up in the back streets of Abbeyhill after the war, and his early childhood was super tough where you had to learn very quickly to be street smart, or you didn’t survive.

Alf’s