by Ed James
Yvonne got out and put her hand on his. ‘Still want to go back to my room?’
Wednesday
15th February
24
The sensuous moaning was doing Cullen’s head in. The purring with pleasure he could take, but when she lowered her head and started making slurping noises as well…
‘Excuse me?’ Cullen glared across the table. ‘Can you—’
‘Mmf?’ The woman froze, a sausage poking out of her mouth, grease dribbling down her glistening chin. Her plate looked like a crime scene: chopped-up meat splattered with ketchup, a congealing pile of baked beans like spilled brains. ‘What?’ She took the sausage stump out of her mouth and thrust it at him, like some piece of evidence. Like a bloody severed finger. ‘Does this offend you? Are you vegan?’ Said like the worst swear word.
Cullen had to look away to keep his own breakfast down. He pushed his porridge bowl away. ‘No, I’m just—’
Hungover, like an idiot.
He swallowed. ‘You were being a bit loud, that’s all.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, princess. Was I too noisy sucking my meat?’ She stuck the sausage back in her mouth and started fellating it.
Cullen got up and left the table, coffee in one hand, cupping his porridge bowl in the other. Then his phone rang. He set the bowl down on another table and checked the display. Angela Lamb. What does she want? He sat. ‘Cullen.’
‘Hey, how you doing?’
‘I’m okay. What’s up?’
‘Just wondering if you’ve heard anything about the job?’
‘Jesus, you’re keen. Bill throwing money away or something?’
‘Motivated, not desperate. So?’
‘It’s Methven’s role, but I’ll talk to HR and find out what’s holding it up.’
‘I thought it went well. Did I fail?’
‘Angela, you know I can’t comment on that. Look, I’ve got to go.’ Cullen cut the call and slipped the phone into his pocket. He tried another spoonful of porridge. The sausage slurper walked past the table, puckering her lips. He shut his eyes, let her have the victory.
‘Good to see you up so early, Sergeant.’ Lennox took the opposite seat, clutching a purple smoothie.
Cullen stared into his porridge and stirred it a few times.
Lennox gave him the once over. ‘After all the daft drinking you and Vonnie did last night, thought you’d be chugging the water?’
‘Vonnie?’
‘Yeah, she doesn’t like that one. Why I call her it.’ Lennox lifted his smoothie, pursed his lips around the straw and took a deep, long SLURP. ‘Recommend one of these bad boys. Nuke any hangover.’
‘Looks like it’s bruised. Like my head.’ Cullen leaned back, stifling a yawn. ‘First hangover in ages and—’
‘Your head feels about as tender as an altar boy’s arse after choir practice. Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.’ Lennox took another long suck then chuckled. ‘But speaking of perverts, I thought I’d see Bain here?’
‘Not seen him today. He went home last night, didn’t he?’
Lennox leaned in close, winking. ‘Back to his mail-order Thai bride, right?’
‘Never met her. Have you?’
‘Nope.’ Lennox rested his smoothie on the table. ‘Nobody has, but Bain says he’s in love, so fair play to the boy.’ He sucked his smoothie right to the bottom, but kept on sucking, getting louder and louder, making the other diners look over. Then he stopped to wink at Cullen. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if she turned out to be a he, mind. Dirty old bastard. Can’t believe he’s still dining out on that email.’
Cullen froze. ‘What email?’
‘You don’t know?’ Lennox smacked his lips. ‘Got caught up with Damo McCrea a couple of years back. Used to work with him and Bain in Glasgow South, aye? Damo said that back when Bain dropped a clanger on this case with some rock star, who—’
‘I worked that. Remember it like it was yesterday.’
‘Well, get you.’ Lennox tore open a paper bag to reveal a bagel smeared in peanut butter. Everything was – the inside of the bag, the outside of the bagel and now Lennox’s fingers. ‘Anyway, Bain pissed off DCS Soutar in some meeting, right? I know Carolyn and she’d had way more than enough of him, so she sent an email to Keith Graham and—’ he clicked his fingers quickly, ‘who’s your guy?’ More clicking then he pointed at Cullen. ‘Oh yeah, Alison Cargill, right? Not a guy, but, anyway, so Carolyn sent them this email about Bain being inept and how she wanted him fired. Unfortunately for her, she got distracted by a phone call or whatever, and sent said email to our friend Brian Bain.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Oh hell yeah.’ Lennox munched his bagel, rubbing peanut butter all over his lips and chin. ‘Way Damo tells it, Bain threatened to go to HR, but they came to an arrangement. So Soutar’s been protecting him ever since, no matter how depraved his carry-on has been.’
‘I smell bullshit.’
‘How?’
‘Bain got demoted. He was a DI, now he’s a DS.’
‘Same pay, though. All part of the deal. He’s out of the line of fire, just what he wanted.’
‘Lucky bastard.’ Cullen shook his head. Bright pain throbbed behind his eyes. He squinted at Lennox, who was busy reading a text message.
Lennox mistook it for an invitation to chat. ‘So, have you seen Yvonne?’
‘Not since last night.’
Lennox picked up his smoothie and rested the straw against his lips. ‘Is there something going on between you two?’
‘I really don’t see how that’s any of your business.’
Lennox stiffened. ‘Fair enough.’ He got up and stomped off.
Cullen shook his head, gently, to avoid another wave of nausea, and reached for his phone. Three words had never taken him so long to type and delete and retype and reconsider and, finally, send.
How are you?
He stared at them, started wondering what Sharon would read into them. The longer he looked, the more disappointed he became by how offhand they’d appear to her. To anyone. Like he’d just tapped the predictive text above the keyboard, letting a machine ask the questions. Like he hadn’t shared her life for years.
The three dots started bouncing underneath his question as she typed a reply. And typed. And typed.
Then the dots disappeared. And no message came through.
One did, from Methven.
Briefing early. St Leonards. Now.
Cullen pulled into the car park at the foot of the Salisbury Crags and took the last space. He got out and raced over the car park to the back entrance. His phone buzzed. Another text message. He reached into his pocket to read it, but he was distracted by a lithe skinhead walking his way.
Rich McAlpine blanked him as they passed each other.
Cullen stopped and turned round. ‘Hey, Rich?’
But he walked off.
What the hell is all this about?
What is it with people I used to share flats with cutting me off?
Cullen walked over to the card reader by the door. Before he could swipe his card, the door clunked open.
DCS Carolyn Soutar stepped out into the pissing rain and gave him a curt nod. ‘Sergeant.’ She powered past him, followed by Cargill and some other senior officers, heading to the waiting press gang.
There goes the reason I have to put up with Bain’s nonsense.
Rich was near the front, holding his phone out to record his questions. He locked eyes with Cullen then looked back at Soutar and her gang.
The DCS cleared her throat and started talking into the microphones thrust into her face. ‘Thank you for joining me. I’ll be brief.’
Cullen walked inside the building and checked his text message.
‘I didn’t kill him. Amy’
He stopped and stared at the screen.
Why the hell has she sent me that? Is it even her?
He hit dial.
No answer.
‘There you sodding are.’ M
ethven grabbed him by the arm and walked him down the corridor. Then he leaned in close and hissed hot coffee breath in Cullen’s ear: ‘Livingston MIT are running both cases now.’
Cullen frowned. ‘Seriously?’
‘No, Sergeant, I’m just winding you up.’ Methven shut his eyes, the lids flickering. ‘I’ve just been in a sodding power breakfast with DCS Soutar and… she gave two reasons, and both are impossible to sodding argue with. First, the number of times we butted up against McLintock or investigated Vardy. We’re too close, they aren’t. I pointed out that he owned a gym in Livingston, but she was having none of it.’ He opened his eyes again and snarl. ‘Her second reason is that she suspects that Vardy has some Edinburgh cops on his payroll. And detectives at that.’
‘Shite. Do you know who?’
‘Nothing more than murmurings at this juncture. Alison Cargill and I pleaded our case, insisting that we stay involved to flush out the rats.’ Methven gripped Cullen’s sleeve again. ‘But it’s a matter for Professional Standards and Ethics, not us.’
Cullen shrugged Methven’s hand off. ‘You trying to say something?’
‘No need to be so touchy.’ Methven snorted. ‘Your performance last night showing up half cut at a crime scene was unprofessional, to say the least, but you’re not on my list of suspects.’
‘Am I on theirs, though?’
Methven looked away. ‘They won’t tell me.’
‘Great.’ Cullen held up his phone. ‘Look, I got a text from Amy Forrest. Says she didn’t kill Vardy.’
Methven stared hard at it. ‘Do you believe her?’
‘I don’t even know if it is her. Could be anyone with a burner, typing her name.’ Cullen pocketed his phone. ‘But I’ll get the number traced. See if we can get a location.’
‘Excellent.’ Methven huffed out a sigh. ‘There’s another thing. I’m afraid that Livingston are interviewing everyone on our investigation. Starting with you.’
25
Cullen knocked on the door and waited. His phone buzzed in his pocket – another text, this time from Tommy Smith in Forensics.
‘Ill look in2 yr nr l8r. Backlog long as yr arm.’
And here’s me thinking he is an expert on phones.
Cullen tapped out a reply.
‘If you could expedite? Urgent. And send the results to Buxton. Cheers.’
He put his phone away and knocked again.
The door opened and Yvonne stood there, frowning. ‘Morning, Scott. You okay?’
‘You’re interviewing me?’
Yvonne stepped into the corridor and pulled the door to behind her. ‘Standard procedure, Scott. It’d be the same if the situation was reversed. If you’ve done nothing wrong, then you don’t need to worry.’
‘I should be working this case.’
She dropped her gaze to her feet and put a hand back on the door.
Cullen whispered, ‘Is this about last night?’
She stiffened, a blush creeping up her neck.
‘Is this about me not coming back to your room?’ He lowered his voice even further. ‘Listen, I wanted to. You wouldn’t believe how tempted I was, but I’m in the middle of something and I’m sorry for leading you on and—’
She pecked him on the cheek. ‘I understand.’ Her voice was as quiet as his. ‘Let me know when you reach the end of that something.’ She stiffened as she opened the door. ‘You coming?’
Cullen clenched his teeth and followed her in to the room.
‘Sergeant.’ Lennox looked up from a file on the table and gave him a cold smile. ‘Have a seat.’
Cullen scratched his fingernails off the palms of his hands. The left was still burning from the porridge incident. ‘We done?’
‘Well.’ Lennox puffed up his cheeks and glanced at Yvonne. ‘There’s only one conspicuous detail here, wouldn’t you agree?’
What the hell has he got on me?
There’s nothing. Certainly nothing I can think of.
Doesn’t mean someone’s planted something. Someone in Vardy’s organisation, one of those bent cops on the payroll.
Yvonne raised her eyebrows like she hadn’t been listening, but before Lennox noticed, she started nodding. ‘I agree.’
Lennox turned back to Cullen. ‘Tell us more about this leather gimp suit.’
‘At the time of night, and in the confusion of the moment, I could not ascertain exactly what the murderer was wearing, but I believe that it was a Batman costume. Maybe a fetishised version, but a Batman costume.’
‘With the mouth open?’
‘Excuse me?’
Lennox held up his monster Samsung phone, showing a photo of Batman from one of the films. ‘He’s got a mask, aye? But the mouth is uncovered, right? Did you see anything that might identify him?’
All Cullen could see was the black shape in the dark night. ‘I don’t know. If it was, I didn’t see. All I saw was dark.’
‘The Dark Knight, eh?’ Lennox put his phone away with a smirk. ‘You sure it was a Batman costume?’
‘No, but I’m sure it was a costume.’ Cullen cleared his throat. ‘Look, DI Lamb and DI Methven have expressed doubts about the superhero attire, but there are two eyewitnesses corroborating my story.’
‘Was there a cape?’
‘I just told you that it was a Batman costume without a cape.’
‘No cape…’ Lennox squinted at him, like he was wondering whether Cullen was winding him up. He leaned back and nodded slowly. ‘And you believe this choice of costume was meaningful?’
‘I’ve no idea, do I?’ Then Cullen frowned. ‘Wait. Campbell McLintock, his partner told us he had a superhero fetish.’
‘Ah, Hamish Williams.’ Lennox made a note on his phone with the stylus. ‘Do you think the murderer could’ve known about this?’
‘Hamish said Campbell was private about this fetish. About their whole relationship. We spoke to a bodybuilder who regularly worked for them as a gay escort. Robert Woodhead.’
‘Ah, the infamous Big Rob.’
‘Right. Well. He told us he engaged in some sexual role play with Mr McLintock – had to wear a Batman costume.’
‘The same one?’
‘I don’t know. Sorry. Look. I believe DI Methven was validating his alibi for the time of death, but—’
‘Already done that. Got Mr Woodhead on surveillance camera and we’ve got a witness statement from a neighbour. Big Rob was nowhere near the crime scene at the relevant time.’ Lennox nodded to himself. ‘Begs the question of who else knew about McLintock’s superhero fetish. You tell anyone?’
‘It’s all in the case file. And you know what this place is like.’ Cullen waved his hand around the room. ‘The canteen staff will have heard by now.’
‘Quite.’ Lennox flicked over a page on the file in front of him. ‘But we have a statement suggesting that Batman killed Vardy too. Meaning we’re looking for somebody with a motive to kill him and McLintock.’ He sat back, arms folded. ‘We’ve been advised to treat the murders as unrelated and to treat the costume similarity as coincidence.’
Cullen pleaded with Yvonne. ‘Come on, it’s the same guy at both crime scenes. Vardy’s and McLintock’s deaths are connected.’
‘Why, though?’ Lennox waited for an answer.
Cullen couldn’t give him one, not one that he believed.
‘Thought so.’ Lennox shook his head. ‘Look, we’re treating both as vigilante actions and investigating any connections. As I’m sure you know, frustrated cops make the best suspects.’
Cullen’s jaw dropped. ‘Me?’
‘Where were you on Monday evening, Sergeant?’
‘I was at Tulliallan.’ Cullen felt a sting behind the eyes. ‘Look, I checked in and, before I could get to my room, Campbell called me, telling me he had information about the Vardy case.’
‘So you went there on your own?’
‘I thought it might just be mischief. You know Campbell.’
‘Never met the man. But
you seem to have known him quite well?’
Cullen’s mouth was dry. His tongue stuck to the roof. He sat forward, swallowing hard. ‘Look, I fought with this Batman guy, right? Guy almost stabbed me.’
Lennox looked him up and down. ‘You’re quite big. You match the description of this—’
‘Wait a minute!’ Cullen pushed himself up to standing, leaning on the desk. ‘Are you not listening to me? I fought with this guy! An eyewitness saw it!’
‘Right.’ Lennox clicked his tongue a few times, then made a note on his phone. ‘Where were you last night between—’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
Cullen looked at Yvonne, but she was staring at her notebook. ‘I was at Tulliallan.’
‘All night?’
‘Until you picked us up and drove us to the crime scene.’
‘Us?’
Cullen stared at him. Then his eyes flicked to Yvonne, but her gaze was firmly fixed to her notebook. ‘A few of us went for a curry in Kincardine. Don’t know the name of the place, sorry.’
‘The Raj, I believe.’ Lennox clicked his tongue again. ‘Know it well. It shuts at nine during the week. And it definitely shut at nine last night. I checked with the staff. And DI Lamb and DS Bain left shortly before closing. Which leaves plenty of time for you to get to Bruntsfield.’
Cullen didn’t say anything. Couldn’t.
‘You’re not going to give me an alibi?’
Under normal circumstances, Cullen would’ve refused to answer, if only to spare Yvonne the embarrassment. In this case, though, silence would make him a suspect, a real suspect. He shrugged an apology at Yvonne. ‘After the curry, I was drinking at a pub in Kincardine.’
Lennox gave him a dubious frown. ‘All night long?’
‘For a while.’
Yvonne seemed to shrink down into her notebook.
‘And would the barman confirm that alibi?’
‘Of course.’
Lennox leaned forward and gave him another one of his squinty looks, unsure whether Cullen was having a laugh at his expense. He leaned back again, though the squint didn’t quite leave his eyes. ‘And what would he tell me if I asked him at what time you left the pub?’
