Dead in the Water: When Cullen met Bain (Cullen and Bain Scottish Crime Thrillers Book 5)

by Ed James

  ‘No, but the threat was there. And that’s why all the evidence pointed to Sandy.’

  Christ. What a filthy little degenerate. I mean…

  Hunter doesn’t seem to be buying this, mind. ‘Why do you still work for him?’

  ‘It’s tough. Kenny pays me a lot of money. Mostly to keep quiet. And some of it is… My habit.’

  ‘Drugs?’

  She looks away. ‘Right.’

  Christ, the poor lassie. All this hassle she’s got herself into. Never ends up right for them, does it?

  ‘Becky.’ Hunter waits for her to look at him. ‘I need you to be honest. One last time. Did it happen like that?’

  She nods.

  ‘In that case, you were raped by two men. One is in Argentina and we can’t get to him, but the other, Kenny Falconer, he’s in hospital. Just up the road. We’ve got him, Becky. We can’t prosecute him for this crime, but there are others he’s behind. We would like you to give us a statement and for you to stand up in court and testify against him. Then he’ll go to prison. He won’t be able to get at you. And your drug problem, we can put you into the best programmes for that. Okay?’

  She isn’t looking at him.

  ‘Becky, when women like you end up in difficult situations like this, it’s very often fatal. Someone like Kenny Falconer or the man who comes after him, they have a habit of killing people like you. This is your chance to strike back against them.’

  She’s shaking her head.

  ‘Becky, I spoke to your parents this morning. They love you. They’re hurt by what happened to you. Between you and them. I can get them in here. I can—’

  ‘Are you trying to use that against me? To get me to—?’

  ‘No. I’ll get them in here, whatever happens. You deserve to be reunited with them.’

  She shuts her eyes. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Okay?’

  ‘Okay, I’ll testify.’

  ‘Thank you, Becky.’

  31

  Cullen

  ‘Sure you’re okay, big man?’ Elvis was sitting the other side of the door, eyes wide.

  Cullen sat back and stared at the ceiling tiles. ‘I’m fine.’

  And he wasn’t. Not in the slightest. It felt like he’d fallen off a roof onto a police car.

  All that metal fighting back against him, pushing against him. And the state of the thing after he’d got off, the roof all crumpled in.

  And Kenny Falconer had “fallen” onto him, smashing his weight against Cullen’s hip. A skinny wee sod, maybe, but gravity had a habit of turning skinny wee sods into fast-moving heavy objects. And getting pinned between Falconer and the car, double ouch.

  Still, they had Falconer in custody. While the doctor was seeing to him, Cullen and Elvis were outside, trapping him in there. The room’s windows couldn’t open. Kenny Falconer was down.

  ‘Sure you’re fine?’ Elvis was shaking his head. ‘Because you—’

  The door swished open and Dr Yule stepped out. She sighed at the sight of Cullen, then gave them both a smile. ‘Constable, I need a word.’

  Cullen and Elvis were both on their feet.

  ‘Not you, Paul.’ Helen was smiling at Elvis. ‘Just Scott.’

  ‘Oh, but we’re—’

  ‘Guarding Mr Falconer, yes. I get it. Your job is to sit there and guard, which is usually a one-man task. I’ve been told to give DC Cullen a once-over. Assuming he passes fit, you can both do it.’ She smiled again then crossed the corridor into an office, holding the door open for Cullen.

  Cullen eased up to his feet, but it felt like he was carrying three sacks of coal around his neck. ‘Just stay here, Paul. Don’t leave without me.’

  ‘Will do.’ Elvis was already staring at his phone.

  Cullen crossed the corridor, yawning, and entered the office.

  Helen shut the door behind him and took her glasses off, resting them on a desk. Then she lurched forward and latched her mouth onto his, kissing so fucking deep. And her hands crawled all over his body, up his back and into his trousers.

  Pain flashed up his hip, but he ignored it, grabbing hold of her buttocks and biting her bottom lip.

  She pushed against the door with a thud, pinning his torso.

  Cullen yelped.

  She stepped back, wiping her mouth. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Not really. I fell from a roof onto a car, then laughing boy over there landed on me.’

  ‘Jesus, Scott!’

  ‘I saw a paramedic, who okayed it.’

  ‘You fell onto a car?’

  ‘Aye, I’m okay.’ But Cullen was frowning. ‘What was that chat about giving me a once-over?’

  ‘Well, I just needed an excuse to get you alone. I’m pretty horny.’

  ‘So, I take it we’re an item, then?’

  She put her glasses back on and gazed at him through the thick lenses. ‘Aye, but seriously. You should probably have an X-ray.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘No, yelping like my wee Scottie dog isn’t fine.’

  Cullen leaned towards her and gave her a kiss, soft and tender this time. ‘Okay, so maybe I’m not so fine, but I’m not in a bad place.’

  ‘Just take care of yourself, Scott, that’s all I ask.’

  ‘Aye, I know. Nature of the beast.’ He took her hand and clenched it tight. ‘How about catching up when I’m back from Christmas?’

  She fixed him with a hard stare. ‘You’re going away?’

  ‘Three weeks, aye. Got a few things on at home. I’ll come back for a couple of days around Christmas and we can get—’

  ‘You live in Angus, right?’

  ‘Dalhousie, aye. Wee shithole on the coast between Arbroath and Montrose.’

  ‘Well, I’m seeing my sister in Perth. Perhaps we can—’

  ‘Sure.’ Cullen shrugged. ‘I like Perth.’

  ‘But you’d rather meet in Edinburgh?’

  ‘Well, meeting in Perth means we get to know each other, right? Without the pressure of sex.’

  ‘The pressure of sex?’

  ‘You know what I mean, Helen. Going on a date. It gives you time to grow to despise how much I sigh or my politics.’

  ‘You’re not a Tory, are you?’

  ‘Christ, no. Why?’

  ‘Well, you’re a cop.’

  ‘And you’re a doctor. Goes with both territories.’

  ‘Mm, true.’ She was frowning hard. ‘Okay. It’s a date.’ She took off her glasses again and kissed him hard, her teeth bumping against his, her fingers digging into his cheeks, then broke off with a gasp. ‘Thank you for not asking me about seeing Kenny Falconer.’

  Cullen arched an eyebrow. ‘How is he?’

  ‘Well, he’s got cracked ribs.’

  ‘Prognosis?’

  ‘A couple of weeks and he’ll be right as rain.’

  ‘So, on remand in the hospital over Christmas?’

  ‘Right enough.’

  Something clattered in the corridor. Something hard thumped into the door. Someone screamed and something else clattered.

  Cullen twisted the handle and pulled the door open.

  A hospital cart was lying arse over tit, all the equipment scattered across the tiles. Elvis was leaning against Falconer’s door, with a pair of scissors sticking out of his thigh, but was just staring into space like he’d eaten a very strong hash cake in Amsterdam.

  And Kenny Falconer stood over him, brandishing a scalpel.

  Cullen reached into his jacket for his baton. He snapped it to extend it and as he stepped through his swing, Falconer slashed out with the knife, missing Cullen by millimetres. The baton hit the wall and the shockwave ran up Cullen’s arm like a hammer blow.

  Helen screamed out. Clutched her eye.

  Falconer smashed Cullen’s kneecap with his bare foot, then shot along the corridor, away from the cart.

  Cullen stood there, unable to move. Unable to choose.

  Stop Falconer escaping.

  Or stay with Hele
n, hoping security caught the bastard.

  Cullen tugged the emergency cord and knelt next to her, trying to prise her blood-soaked fingers away from her skull. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘No!’ Her eyebrow was bisected by a deep wound that ran down into her eye socket and across the closed lid.

  No contest.

  32

  Hunter

  Hunter didn’t want to look at his arm. Any time he moved it, the bandages dug into the hairs and gave a different flavour of burn, like someone had taken a blowtorch to it.

  Which hauled him back to a hotter time. Night, the sound of distant gunfire. The smell of burning meat.

  He tried to centre himself on the here and now.

  The swoosh of the cleaning machine further down the corridor.

  ‘Thanks for waiting with me.’

  ‘It’s what mates are for.’ Chantal Jain was leaning forward, thumbs hammering off the keys of her mobile. ‘Had one before?’

  ‘An HIV test?’ He winced. ‘A couple of times.’

  She smirked at him. ‘Bad boy.’

  ‘Hardly.’ Hunter looked away from her. ‘Once when I was back in Iraq. Exploding body parts have a surprisingly high probability of getting into your mouth, especially when you’re shocked and it’s hanging wide. And I had an open wound from a knife fight with a warlord.’

  ‘Gross.’ She was giving him some wild side eye. ‘And also, a knife fight with a warlord?’

  ‘Long, long story. I’m not very good with knives.’ Hunter winced. ‘Unlike Kenny Falconer.’

  She held his gaze for a really long time. Felt like weeks. ‘Heard you hurled him off the side of the building.’

  ‘That’s bollocks.’

  ‘Thought so. Still, people talk. Especially cops.’

  ‘It was slippery as hell up there. Absolutely pissing down.’ Hunter’s trousers were slicked to his thighs and his shoes made him feel like he was paddling on the beach at Porty. ‘Christ, at least we’ve got Becky to testify.’

  ‘Aye, good work on that score.’ Jain smiled. ‘We’ll prosecute Kenny for this. Murders, drug deals, rapes. All of it.’ Her phone chimed, then rang way louder than it should be in a hospital. She checked the display. ‘Got to take this.’ She walked off, looking back at him with a frown, mouthing, ‘You okay?’

  Hunter raised his thumb. And got a fresh burn of pain.

  She answered the phone. ‘Hi, sir.’ Then disappeared around a corner.

  Hunter stood up and peered through the window into the ward.

  Happy Jack was still sitting by a bed, head in his hands. The news about his wife’s death was hitting him way harder than Hunter expected.

  She had a name. Marie Richardson. Ran away from Elgin and an abusive relationship. Fell in with a bad crowd in Glasgow, then moved through to Edinburgh where she found an even worse one. Two years living with junkies in a shooting gallery in Muirhouse, and she found salvation in Happy Jack. And free heroin. The free heroin that cost her life.

  Hunter should get in there, question him. See if any of Jonathan Braithwaite was coming out to play today. And maybe get something they could use against Falconer.

  But that was for another day.

  Hunter sat back on his chair and rested his sore arm in his hand.

  Bloody mess. This case. His life. All of it.

  Kenny Falconer. At least they had him.

  So why was he standing at the end of the corridor, in a gown, glowering at Hunter.

  ‘Stop!’ Hunter launched to his feet and clattered after him.

  But Falconer was quick, shooting off back the way he’d come.

  Hunter followed, but lost him around the first corner. Trouble with this place was it all looked the same. Bleached-white corridors, rooms all leading off. Falconer could be in any of them.

  Or he could be up ahead.

  Just great.

  Weren’t Elvis and Cullen supposed to be looking after him?

  Hunter ran along the corridor and turned another corner, and almost smacked into a cleaning machine. He waved a hand at the operator, getting him to lift his headphones off but he didn’t stop. ‘Have you see anyone run this way?’

  A frown crossed the jutting forehead. ‘Think so.’

  ‘Where?’

  The operator thumbed behind him.

  ‘Thanks.’ Hunter raced off, passing four closed doors and he swung around another corner. ‘Holy shit.’

  Elvis lay against a door, a pool of thick blood leeching out of his thigh. He was grinning at the pair of scissors jabbed into his leg, stoned out of his skull. On God knows what.

  Shite, those Snickers bars. The daft sod had been eating them.

  Opposite, Cullen lifted Dr Yule up in his arms. ‘Craig, I need your help!’

  Hunter had no choice. He’d lost Falconer.

  Again.

  33

  Bain

  One job.

  These arseholes had one fuckin’ job.

  Christ on a fuckin’ bike.

  Cullen is sitting in front of the CCTV machine, knees up to his oxters. Not that he’s looking at us, instead rocking the footage back and forward, switching between all the views available.

  Tell you, the stuff at the CCTV station in the Royal Mile is decades behind this stuff. Instead of these arseholes stopping Kenny fuckin’ Falconer escaping from the hospital, we can just watch him stabbing Elvis in the thigh with a pair of fuckin’ scissors, then cutting that doctor bird in the eye with a scalpel, then escaping from the hospital. In high-resolution, Techni-fuckin’-color.

  Christ.

  I rest a hand on Cullen’s shoulder. ‘What were you doing when this happened?’

  Cullen taps the screen, at the door opposite Elvis. An office, maybe. ‘I was in there, discussing Kenny Falconer’s prognosis with Dr Yule.’

  Up to his nuts in her, more like. Dirty wee shagger.

  ‘And what did she say?’

  ‘Said it was good, could interview him soon.’ Cullen squints at the screen. He’s good. Used to lying to bosses, isn’t he? Could use a lad like this on my team. ‘Not as good a prognosis as mine, but then he bounced off me and fell onto the tarmac.’

  ‘Pair of arseholes.’

  Cullen looks around at us, eyebrow raised. ‘Thanks for backing up our story.’

  ‘What, with Shepherd?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Well, you owe me now.’ It’s a whisper.

  Cullen nods, but he’s definitely heard us. Still, he’s focusing on the screen. ‘That’s interesting.’

  And he’s right. Kenny waltzes out the front of the hospital in a business suit, fancy specs dazzling the camera. Stops a cab and gets in.

  ‘I’ll have to trace this, sir. And we should see whose suit he stole.’

  ‘Damn right.’

  Cullen gets out his phone and walks away from us, out into the corridor. Can see him through the wired glass.

  Leaving me scratching my balls in there. I reach over to the big jog wheel doodah so I can have a little fiddle with the footage but, fuck me, all I get is the screen going blank.

  Useless piece of fuckin’ shite!

  The door swings open and Cullen steps back in.

  ‘Can you fuckin’ fix this?’

  ‘Fix it yourself.’ It’s not Cullen, but Hunter, giving us the kind of glower that could melt a tank.

  And he’s with fuckin’ Elvis, who seems to be in orbit around Saturn, his eyes almost all pupil.

  Those fuckin’ Snickers bars. Don’t seem to be melting yours truly in the same way, mind.

  ‘All that work getting her to agree to testify, it’s not much use if we’ve lost Falconer, is it?’ Hunter stands up tall, almost a foot above us. ‘And the doctors told me I’ve got to take Paul here home. His leg’s fine, the scissors somehow managed to miss veins and arteries. But those Snickers bars he was eating were loaded with cannabis resin.’

  Shite.

  A burp escapes my gut. ‘How many did he eat?’

&
nbsp; ‘Sixteen.’

  ‘Sixteen?’ Christ, well that would explain it. I only had one. ‘He going to be okay?’

  ‘Docs have given him something for it. Sedative or an upper or something. Got to take him home, get him to bed. Let him sleep it all off.’

  ‘Well, what’s keeping you?’

  Hunter doesn’t seem to want to get out of here. ‘How’s it going with finding Falconer?’

  I nod over at the door. ‘Sundance is checking on something for me.’

  ‘Sundance?’

  I smirk, just in time for Cullen to waltz back through.

  ‘That’s a no-go on the car.’ He pockets his phone. ‘ANPR lost it coming off the bypass near Wester Hailes.’

  Hunter frowns at him. ‘Where Kenny lives. He’ll have gone to ground. We won’t find him.’

  ‘Fuckin’ great.’ I could punch something or someone, but either of these fannies would probably just fuckin’ break. ‘So Kenny Falconer’s missing. Christ. I need all hands to the pumps, lads. Hunter, you seem to know the boy, so I want you taking lead in Treasure Island.’

  ‘Treasure Island?’

  Christ, what do they teach laddies at Tulliallan. ‘Wester fuckin’ Hailes!’

  ‘Sir.’ Hunter gives us a nice big nod. The kind that shows a healthy amount of respect for authority. ‘On it. Oh, and I just wanted to say that I checked in on Dr Yule, but she’s still in surgery.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But that’s it. And if you want me working, someone needs to get Elvis home.’

  ‘Fine, if you could speak to Butch, I’d appreciate it.’

  ‘Butch?’

  Can’t hide my smirk, can I? ‘DS McNeill.’

  ‘Will do.’ Hunter heads for the door.

  Cullen’s blocking his way. ‘Wondered if you needed a hand?’

  Hunter laughs in his face. ‘Find another mate.’ He shakes his head and barges through him and the door.

  Cullen stands there, frowning at him like he’s just lost a lover. Maybe he has. You get anything in the police these days, eh?

  I get in front of him. ‘You couldn’t take Elvis, could you?’

  Cullen scratches his neck. ‘Trouble is, I’m signed off.’