by Ed James
Bain sniggered. ‘Why so coy now? So you’d just been ploughed by Campbell’s monster cock and now you—’
‘What?’ Rob screwed his face up. ‘No, I didn’t say. Not at all. I’m a giver, not a taker. And I just told you I’m not gay.’
Bain looked mystified. ‘Have you seen the harpoon—’
‘Aye, I’ve seen it. Frightening. This is… Christ, I can’t believe I’m saying this out loud. Mr McLintock said his partner’s penis isn’t big enough to get destroyed.’
Bain burst out laughing. ‘And yours isn’t shrivelled up from all the steroids?’
‘I’m alright down there, mate.’ Big Rob looked up and maintained steady eye contact with Bain. Then he nodded, the tics and twitches now playing havoc with his face. ‘His words, not mine.
‘Alright, alright.’ Cullen gave Big Rob a stern look. ‘I’d rather you focused on your alibi. Can you prove what time you left Mr McLintock’s house?’
Big Rob stared at Cullen, dead still, his facial tics disappearing with the admission of the truth. He fixed his gaze on Cullen, leaned back and took a calm breath, somehow managing to look dignified for a strongman squatting on a kid’s chair. ‘I’ll give you the facts and you can give it your best shot finding proof. Glad that you’re the cops, and not me. I’m just the rich man’s rent boy, and once I’d done my job, I got changed back into a pair of ripped-off tracksuit bottoms and left through the front door. I didn’t grapple with anybody who didn’t pay for the privilege. And that’s the end of it.’
Cullen stepped into the observation suite expecting a pat on the back, maybe even two. One for getting Big Rob to admit he was at the crime scene on the night of the murder and perhaps another for getting him to corroborate Deeley’s estimate that McLintock was unharmed until at least nine pm.
‘What a sodding disaster.’ Methven had shaken off his calm demeanour. ‘I expected you to get a confession, Sergeant.’ He stared at Cullen, a calculating meanness in his eyes, then shot the same look at Bain as he entered the room. ‘Gentlemen, you just took a shot at an open goal and missed. You interviewed a man who refused legal counsel and who outright confessed to having been at the crime scene around the time the victim sustained his first injuries. Oh, and he admitted to having had sexual relations with said victim. He even implied a degree of resentment.’ He took a sharp breath and spread his arms wide. ‘Bottom line, our man had motive, means, and opportunity, and you got sodding nothing.’
Cullen counted to ten as Methven lowered his arms, like a tired father who wasn’t really mad at his incompetent boy, just disappointed. He pointed at the screen, at Big Rob still sitting at the table, not fidgeting, not twitching, not doing anything that might reflect a guilty conscience. ‘He’s clearly not the murderer.’
Methven fake-laughed. ‘Forgive me if your verdict doesn’t inspire me with confidence, Sergeant. I’ll have to continue the interview myself.’ He looked back and forth between Cullen and Bain. ‘You two can get off to Tulliallan for your course. Seems like you need the extra lessons.’
Cullen swallowed his pride and the verbal abuse he felt like giving. ‘Sir.’
21
Cullen killed the engine, taking a few seconds to unclench his fingers from the steering wheel. He rubbed his eyes, then blinked away the red sunspots in his vision and glanced at Bain.
Asleep.
Of course. Untroubled by thought or conscience, like a bearded baby.
‘FIRE!’
Bain jolted awake, flailing his arms in panic and somehow managing to hit his hands off pretty much everything within reach – dashboard, window, roof, even his own head.
Cullen burst out laughing.
Bain stared at him, wide-eyed. When he stopped hyperventilating, he sagged back in his seat with a sigh like a death rattle. ‘You fuckin’ arsehole.’
‘Oh, come on, that was beautiful. Does make me wonder how someone who just smacked themselves in the face managed to take out Big Rob. That must’ve been a bit of a fluke, right?’
‘That wasn’t a fluke, you wanker.’ Bain closed his eyes. ‘It’s called Judo. Been doing it since I was a wean.’ He got out of the car and stomped across the car park.
‘FIRE!’
Cullen opened his eyes and shot to his feet. ‘What?’
A classroom, low light, a projector screen glowing white with the Police Scotland logo.
The course. Right.
And the only thing on fire was his face.
Bain stood next to him, laughing. ‘See how you fuckin’ like it.’
Cullen yawned into his fist and sat back down again. Could easily fall asleep again. He took a deep breath, his head throbbing, and blinked crystals out of his eyes.
‘School’s out for summer, Sundance.’ Bain pushed past Cullen. ‘I need a drink. You fancy one?’
Cullen got to his feet and followed him over to the door. The noise from the bar spilled out into the corridor.
Been so long since I had a drink. A proper one.
But there’s nothing tying me down now. Nobody to tick me off for staggering in after ten pints with Buxton.
But over two years sober, give or take. Is it worth giving up that milestone? Can I trust myself?
Cullen reached into his pocket. ‘I’m buying.’
Cullen sipped the pint and shut his eyes. The cold, crisp nectar slipped down his throat. So easy. Too easy. Then the immediate hit of alcohol, spiking his veins in a way that wine or spirits couldn’t. He opened his eyes again and the college bar seemed to glow, the comforting atmosphere of an old man’s pub. Maroon wallpaper, beer-themed mirrors and detective sergeants from all around Scotland drinking the taps dry.
‘Fuck’s sake, Sundance, you look like you’re going to come.’
‘Feel like I have.’ Cullen took another drink and rested his glass on the bartop. ‘And without any Viagra.’
‘What the hell are you talking about.’ Yvonne was frowning at him.
Cullen spotted Bain over her shoulder, now talking to the barman about whisky. ‘Oh, hi. I was just winding Bain up.’
‘Like he needs any more.’ Yvonne smiled at him like seeing him here wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
So he took another sip of beer. ‘Been in here a while?’
‘Your chat is rancid, Scott.’ She clapped a hand on his shoulder, but missed by a few inches. ‘Aye, how can you tell? Just waiting for the party to get started.’ She winked at him. ‘Have a nice sleep?’
Cullen blushed. ‘You noticed?’
‘Someone chain sawing at the back of the room is a bit off-putting. Poor Terry had to shout to make himself heard.’
‘Ah, shite.’ Cullen tried to smile, but it was coming off as so fake. So he hid it by drinking his pint. ‘Can I get you a drink? White wine, right?’
‘Well, if you’re buying.’
‘Alright, don’t move. Back in a sec.’ Cullen joined the queue, a backlog created by Bain’s intimate analysis of the whisky stock. He tried to nudge past the guy ahead and get to the bar.
‘Hoy!’ He got an angry glare from Lamb. ‘Oh, you’re awake.’
‘Aye, aye.’ Cullen sank the last of his pint and raised the glass. ‘Can I get you one?’
‘Least you can do. Get us a Talisker.’
‘If Bain ever makes his mind up.’ Cullen caught the barman’s attention and mouthed the order.
‘Cheers, Scott.’ Lamb held up his whisky glass, still full from the previous round, left it near his lips, savouring the smell. He put it down without a sip. ‘So how’s Methven getting on with the case?’
Cullen groaned. ‘Come on, Bill, you’re off the clock.’
‘Doesn’t mean I don’t want to talk about that case. Not often one of the biggest deterrents to our conviction rate gets murdered.’
‘Well, I don’t want to get between you and Methven’s swinging dick competition.’
Lamb clenched his teeth. ‘Don’t…’ He held up his hands. ‘No more chat about dicks, okay? Bain
just won’t just shut up about how blessed the late Mr McLintock was.’
Cullen was already shaking his head as the barman rested his beer and Yvonne’s wine on the bartop. Lamb’s whisky followed. The barman named his price but Cullen couldn’t hear. He reached for his wallet, anyway.
But Lamb grabbed his arm, shaking his head. ‘Leave it. I’ll pay for those. Glad to see you’re back in the land of the liver abusers.’ He took out his mobile and held it to the card reader. ‘Isn’t technology wonderful?’
‘Cheers, Bill.’
Cullen led over to Yvonne. ‘You guys know each other?’
‘Worked together over the years, aye.’ Yvonne drank a big chunk of her fresh glass of wine. ‘I’m starving.’
‘Any more drinks?’ The waiter cleared his throat again. Sounded like he had something stuck in there. ‘Or the dessert menu?’
‘For the fifth time, pal, can we just get the bill?’ Even Bain had lost interest in where this evening could still go. He shook his head as he watched the waiter limp off. ‘Can’t get the staff, eh?’
The curry house was near enough empty now, much like the empty Cobra pint glasses littering the small table. They were squeezed into a corner booth, Yvonne’s leg pressed up against Cullen’s. His hand crawled towards hers, but she pulled it away. A brief flash of her eyebrows at Bain and Lamb sitting opposite made her message clear. The way she rubbed her bare foot up his leg muddied it.
‘You rude bastard.’ Lamb shook his head at Bain. ‘What’s the magic word?’
‘Fuck that.’ Bain gave him a shrug. ‘I’ll tip the boy, don’t you worry.’
The waiter returned with the bill and Bain scowled at it. ‘Right. Forty quid each.’ He tossed two twenties on the table. ‘And here’s my tip.’ He daintily placed a tenner down. ‘Christ, even drinking’s expensive these days.’
Cullen chucked his money down. ‘You can’t get a bargain every time, can you?’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘It means you were lucky to get that Thai bride of yours in the sales.’
‘You fuckin’ what?’ Bain glared at him, but when Lamb and Yvonne started laughing, he couldn’t help himself from joining in. He got up and grabbed his coat from the back of his chair. ‘Thanks for the concern, Sundance. Better get home and tend to my investment. Bye, bye, my lovelies.’
Lamb was on his feet too now, placing his money on top. ‘Get a taxi, aye?’
‘Course. Fuckin’ think I am?’
‘An idiot?’ Lamb clapped his hands. ‘And that’s my cue.’ He hung his leather jacket over his shoulder and curtseyed to Yvonne. ‘Good evening, madam. Sir. Make sure you don’t leave it too late, aye?’ He winked at Cullen, then followed Bain out.
Silence.
Then they both spoke at once.
‘So, what do you fancy doing n—’
‘So, what did I miss—?’
They shared a laugh.
‘You first, Yvonne.’
‘No, I’ll answer yours.’ She pouted. ‘Nothing. You missed absolutely nothing. The entire course is as pointless as Bain’s existence.’ She put her money in. ‘Sounds like your day was much more satisfying?’
‘Hardly.’ Cullen paused, the memory of last night’s crime scene hitting him again. ‘And to answer your question, seeing as this place is closing, we can either go our separate ways or…’
Cullen sat in the corner, watching Yvonne at the bar, the view obscured by two locals playing pool. The pub was busy, with the benches around the walls filled with half of Kincardine’s retirement homes on some kind of evening release programme. The two old guys next to him were stuck in a game of dominoes that was heading towards violence.
Yvonne caught his smile and returned it with a wink.
At least we’re away from the college. No sneaky photos shared around WhatsApp groups…
‘Barman’s bringing them over.’ Yvonne slumped in the chair next to him, hooked her arm under his and pressed her leg up against his. ‘So, tell me about your fun adventures in fighting crime while the rest of us spent the day trapped at Tulliallan.’
‘It’s hardly a fun day when you spend it with Bain and Methven. And besides, we got sent back here, didn’t we?’
‘Fair point. He’s awful. Thank God he’s been away working for most of today.’
‘I disagree. Got saddled with him all afternoon.’
‘What did he do?’
‘Nothing too bad.’ Cullen laughed. ‘Actually, he’s… Bollocks to it. He’s not as bad as he used to be. Nowhere near as bad. You know that thing where people get promoted beyond their competency?’
‘The Peter Principle.’ She looked up as the barman deposited a glass of white and a pint of something murky. ‘People in a hierarchy tend to rise to their “level of incompetence”. Right?’
‘Right. Well, he’s living proof.’ Cullen took a sip of beer and it felt like he’d been hit by a tanker full of grapefruit juice. ‘This is fantastic.’ Another sip. ‘Aye, so Bain was a nightmare as a DI. Red-faced all the time, effing and jeffing like nobody’s business. Trying to frame people. Now he’s a DS again, he’s just annoying. Back to being competent.’
‘Bill said he was obsessed by the victim’s cock?’
‘Right. I mean, it was massive, but you get over it. He hasn’t.’ Another mouthful of citrusy beer. ‘This is fucking lovely, by the way. Ooh.’ Another sip. ‘You know, if it was anybody else, I’d reckon they’d suffered some kind of psychological trauma in childhood or whatever. The knob gags could be gallows humour, but…’ He thought about it, then shook his head. ‘Some days it seems to be all Bain talks about. Few months back, we did this case through in Glasgow and…’ He laughed. ‘I’ll just leave it there.’
She patted his arm, letting her hand linger there. Still held it there when the barman returned, depositing two glasses on the table. Fizzy amber liquid, each with a shot glass inside, filled with a dark liquid. Jägerbombs. ‘Thanks.’ She winked at the barman, walking off with a ‘Cheers’.
Cullen stared at the Jägerbomb like it was napalm. A dark shot sat inside a fizzing glass of energy drink. Drinking beer is one thing, this shite is really crossing the line. ‘You trying to get me pissed?’
‘Maybe?’ Yvonne held hers over her mouth. ‘You ready?’
Cullen picked his up and stared deep into the shot glass. ‘Bugger it.’
‘Go!’ With a practised flick of the wrist she necked the Jägerbomb, slammed her empty glass back on the table and reached for her wine.
Cullen chucked his down his throat, the shot glass bumping against his teeth, the energy drink dribbling down his chin. ‘Ah, shite.’ He set down the empty glasses and took another sip of beer. ‘I forgot how rank that stuff is. Bleurgh.’ He stuck his tongue out, as if the stale pub air could take the taste away.
‘You big jessie.’ Yvonne looked him straight in the eye and clinked her glass against his. ‘Did Bain really buy a Thai bride?’
‘I don’t know if she’s really a mail-order bride, just that he claims she’s from Thailand. I’ve never met her, but, then again, I put Bain’s son behind bars, so he’s unlikely to tell me the truth about anything.’ For a moment, Cullen got lost in his thoughts, then he shook his head and they were back on track. ‘Now, if you want me to be sober enough to walk you to your door, I’d better stop drinking.’
She took the pint from his hand, smoothly laced her fingers between his and stood up. ‘Off we go, then.’
Yvonne giggled as she fumbled the key card. It flopped onto the splotchy carpet. She bent down to pick it up, taking a couple of goes to stand up again, and swiped it through the lock. It clicked and she froze, frowning. She took a step back and looked up at Cullen with dead serious eyes, the giddy smile fading from her face. ‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’
‘I thought we were—’
‘What I mean is, are you sure you’re man enough for this?’ She cocked her head at the door. ‘After the last time, you bit
ched out on me. Kept blanking me. Have you grown a pair since then or am I wasting my time here?’
Cullen could think of nothing to do other than return her stare.
‘Well, are you coming in or are you too scared?’
Cullen snapped out if it. ‘Of course, I’m scared. Back when I was a cadet here, I got caught smuggling a local girl into my room. Next morning, five laps of the playing grounds and two hundred press-ups. Almost tore a pectoral.’ He touched his chest as if it still hurt. ‘Now you’ve got me wondering what suffering awaits me this—’
She put her hand over his mouth. ‘Shut up, Scott. You love it.’ She dropped her hand to his chest and gave his manboob a playful squeeze.
Cullen leaned in for the kiss. It all ended. The smiles, the flirting, the night. And his old life. A new one starting, her tongue in his mouth, pushing against his. Her teeth biting his lips.
Then his phone buzzed and he tried to ignore it but the bastard thing kept ringing. He broke off the kiss. ‘Sorry.’ He pulled it out and glanced at the screen. Methven. ‘Shite. It’s the fucking boss.’ He leaned against the wall and put the phone to his ear. ‘What’s up?’
‘Dean sodding Vardy is dead.’
22
‘Right, before you get out…’ DI Terry Lennox dropped them off under a street light outside Vardy’s flat in Bruntsfield. ‘Listen, I don’t care about what’s going on between you pair, and nobody’s going to hear about it from me, but the state of you…’ He shook his head. ‘You’re detectives.’
Cullen didn’t say anything, just got out of the passenger seat, careful not to spill the bottom half of the acrid coffee he was using to camouflage the reek of booze on his breath. And to sober the hell up before Methven clocked how pissed he was.
Yvonne got out and Cullen had to catch her to stop her falling over.
