by Ed James
Kenny spotted Yvonne joining them and gave her a frown. ‘What’s this about?’
‘Just need a word with her.’
‘This about the boss?’
‘Trying to find his killer, aye.’
Kenny smacked a fist into the opposing palm. ‘Any chance I can get a minute in the room with the guy?’
‘You know there’s not.’
Kenny gave a sad sigh. ‘Still like to offer my services.’ Then his look darkened. ‘Just make sure you catch him, right?’
‘That’s the plan. So is Katie in?’
Kenny cracked his knuckles. ‘Did she kill him?’
‘No, but she might help us find who did.’
The calculus worked its way through Kenny’s brain. He could deny any knowledge, then find Katie and ask her a few hard questions. But if anything happened to her, then he was prime suspect. And he had the look of a man who had experience of that. ‘I’ve got her address somewhere. Wee flat on Dalry Road.’
The stairwell had been cleaned already that morning, drying water puddling on the marble steps. Cullen climbed up and gave the flat door a sharp double knock.
It opened to a crack and a woman stood there, just in her bra and knickers. Tall, heavily tanned, with dark tattoos covering most of her skin. Her eyes widened and she looked ready to run.
Cullen grabbed the door handle and burst into the room. A bog-standard one-bed flat – kitchen on one wall, sofa and telly by the window, two doors off.
The young woman flattened her back against one of the doors, her eyes wide, staring at Cullen and Yvonne. ‘Get out!’ Then she folded her arms over her chest. ‘Get the fuck out of here!’
Yvonne took three quick steps towards the girl and flashed her warrant card. ‘DS Flockhart. This is DS Cullen.’ She scanned the room with a cold gaze, then focused her attention on the stripper, staring her right in the eye. ‘Who are you hiding behind that door, Katie?’
‘What?’
‘You heard me.’
‘Nobody.’
‘Don’t bullshit me. You are Katie Douglas, right?’
Katie muttered something under her breath, her eyes darting around the room in search of some excuse to get the police out as fast as possible. Whatever she was hiding, she had no intention of giving it up without a fight.
A high-pitched baby cry came through the door behind her.
Yvonne walked up to Katie, a single jerk of the head enough to make her step aside. She opened the door and stood still, rooted to the spot.
Cullen jogged across to her to peer over her shoulder.
A naked boy stood up in a playpen, holding the wooden bars with his tiny fists, his face red from screaming, his eyes swollen with tears. His playpen covered in shit. The smell coming off him in the sweltering room was awful, the sight worse. Somehow, he had got his nappy off and writhed about in his own excrement before getting a hold of the bars and pulling himself up. A birthmark surrounded his right eyebrow.
It was Zak.
Amy’s son.
33
Cullen stared at the wee guy, too shocked by the sight of the mess he was in to do anything about it.
Yvonne snapped out of it faster. She walked over to a Las Vegas make-up mirror framed with light bulbs, grabbed a dressing gown off the chair and swaddled Zak in it.
The boy’s tiny chest heaved in a breathless screaming fit, but he was too tired to keep up the high-energy protest for long, his screams giving way to feeble cries and convulsions. Soon, he’d calmed down enough for her to cradle him in her arms and carry him out of the room. ‘The truth. Now.’
Katie tottered over to the make-up chair and slumped down, wrapping her arms around herself. ‘Amy left him with me last night. Said she just had to make a quick house call. Back in an hour. The wee one was asleep and I was already off work, so I agreed to mind him. But she didn’t come back and I’m running late for my shift.’
‘You didn’t think to call it in?’
Katie dropped her gaze to her bare feet. ‘I waited overnight, even fed the little sod and turned up the heating to make sure he wouldn’t get cold, only that broke the thermostat and the heater went so hot it got too much and I had to take his clothes off to make sure he wouldn’t overheat and…’
‘Where is she?’
‘Search me.’ Katie took a deep breath. ‘She turned up the other night, saying her boyfriend battered her and she needed a place to stay, so her and Zak were on my couch.’
Cullen glanced at the wee one. Welcome to the club, mate.
Katie caught his look but misread it. ‘Don’t think I neglected Zak.’
‘I’m not—’
‘He was fine, honest to God, but I didn’t know he’d get this upset so fast. And I was going to call the police, even though Amy told me not to…’ She broke off, still staring at her feet.
‘Katie, it’s okay. I’m sure she’s grateful to you for minding Zak. But you can help us by telling us where she went and who she went to see.’ He smiled at her, battling the urge to shake the answer out of her.
She started nodding. ‘Let me think…’ She scrunched up her young face, thinking hard. Then clicked her fingers. ‘She had a trick. An escort gig?’
‘Who with?’
‘Can’t mind. But it was weird. She had to dress as Wonder Woman.’
Another superhero.
‘I mean, I phoned the hotel, but they say there’s no answer in the room.’
Yvonne stopped at the traffic lights in front of the Glasshouse, the church façade buried in a modern glass box housing a leisure complex. Cinema, bars, a nightclub, even a gym. ‘This is weird.’
‘What is?’ The lights turned green and Cullen started across the road. ‘Working together again?’
‘Right. Methven and Lennox don’t know we’re doing this. And we’re doing it your way. All cowboy.’
‘I seem to remember a lot of reverse cowgirl.’
She stopped by the hotel’s front door, her glower like a slap in the face. ‘We can’t talk about any of that on the clock, okay?’
‘I know. Sorry. Look, I’ve been there before. It’s not easy. Sorry.’
‘Don’t forget it.’ She slipped inside the hotel.
Cullen followed her in and joined her at the reception desk.
‘Yes.’ She put her warrant card back in her pocket. ‘The name was Kevin.’
The pretty boy in the slick suit squinted at his computer, tinkling the keyboard like a virtuoso pianist. He looked down his nose at Yvonne. ‘Ah yes, we have one Kevin Jones staying with us. Shall I call up to—?’
‘Just give us the room number.’
The lift doors slid open and Cullen led down the corridor, waiting before he knocked on the door.
Chances are, Amy didn’t come back for her son because the job went bad.
He waited a few seconds before knocking. The door inched open.
Cullen glanced at Yvonne – could see they were both thinking the same thing.
Door ajar, crime in progress.
He followed her into the room, scanning the spacious lounge area for signs of violence. No overturned tables, no smashed glass on the hardwood floors, nobody rampaging through the suite wielding an axe. Gossamer curtains flickered over wide floor-to-ceiling windows, the slight breeze losing the fight with the oppressive heat in the room. Made Cullen sweat. A pile of cushions lay on the floor, behind a massive couch with its back to the door. He went over and pushed aside the soft furnishings.
No dead body, just more cushions and a used condom. He checked the couch for anything else suspicious. Nothing. The matt maroon leather sofa would’ve camouflaged any traces of blood anyway.
The room was empty. Spotless.
‘Come here.’ Yvonne was by the door.
Cullen joined her.
Hanging from a coat peg, next to a black mac, was half a Wonder Woman costume— spangly blue-and-white shorts. A pair of golden knee-high boots lay on the floor.
She walked o
ver to the open bedroom door but not through it. She stared into the room. ‘Shite.’
Cullen stepped over, and his breath caught in his throat.
Blood-soaked sheets pulled to the floor, all tangled up around an otherwise naked man, his throat sliced open.
Hamish Williams.
34
‘Everybody knows that these wanky boutique hotels are turned over by professional cleaners every fucking four minutes.’ Anderson was on his knees, brushing and dusting by Cullen’s feet. Two of his SOCOs bustled around, lit up by flashes from the photographer. ‘And after the precautions taken at the last two crime scenes, we can be sure the murderer left a clean room behind anyway.’
Jimmy Deeley mumbled into his Dictaphone, facing away from Cullen, his notes out of earshot.
Hamish Williams lay at the foot of the bed, his limbs twisted in the sheets, his eyes glazed over, staring up at the ceiling like a dead fish lying on a stall at a seaside market. And the smell wasn’t too far off, either. Deep lacerations criss-crossed his naked body, the blood seeping into the stark white sheets, staining them a rusty brown now it had dried. Some of that brown came from another source, judging by the stink.
All the hallmarks of the same killer as Vardy and McLintock. And the same ferocious rage.
‘CULLEN!’ A suited figure stood in the bedroom doorway, pointing a trembling finger at the far side of the room and Yvonne who was talking to a SOCO over by the window. Methven got in Cullen’s face, his crime-scene mask frosted with stale breath. ‘Why did you bring her with you?’
‘Sergeant Flockhart brought me—’
‘Get out, now.’ Methven took a step into the room. ‘Both of you!’
Yvonne just looked at him, her face as unreadable as Methven’s mask. Then something seemed to click in there. She glanced at Cullen, back at Methven, and nodded. ‘Sir.’ She walked out of the room, leaving the door open behind her.
Cullen switched his focus back to Methven. ‘What’s got into you?’
‘She shouldn’t be here. And I told you to GET OUT!’
Cullen clenched his fists, ready to smack him one. Sod it, that’s just what the prick wants. So he let go of his anger and walked away.
‘Eh, guys?’ Anderson was lying on the floor, pointing under the bed. ‘There’s a woman down here.’
Methven’s jaw dropped. ‘Dead?’
‘No, no.’ Anderson shifted onto his side, both hands up. ‘Come on out. It’s okay.’
A dishevelled ponytail of peroxide blonde hair appeared from under the bed, then naked white shoulders inched out, followed by a naked white bum and a golden bodice, barely covering her chest. Amy Forrest looked up.
Cullen grabbed one of the few clean sheets and draped it over her trembling shoulders. He helped her to her feet, seeing the same impatience flicker in Methven’s eyes, and led Amy out of the room into the suite’s second bedroom, where he guided her over to an oversized chaise longue. He grabbed a robe from the cupboard and handed it to her.
A smile flashed on her lips and she pulled it on, letting the bed sheet tumble to the floor before tying the belt.
Methven closed the door behind them and retreated to a leather armchair by the window.
Cullen stood close but far enough away that she wouldn’t feel crowded. ‘You okay, Amy?’
She gave him nothing, not even eye contact. Just tightened her grip on the dressing gown’s belt.
‘Amy.’ Cullen waited until she looked at him, her pupils dilated with stress. I hate myself for the stunt I’m about to pull, but the clock’s ticking. ‘I promise to keep you safe. But I need to catch the guy who did this. They would’ve done the same to you if you hadn’t hidden under that bed, am I right?’
She gave a tentative nod.
Cullen returned it. ‘That was smart thinking. But now I need you to help me make sure he can’t do that to anyone else.’
She gave him another one of her tiny nods.
‘You’re doing great, Amy.’ Cullen joined her on the chaise longue. ‘Let’s start at the beginning. This might not seem important, but let’s chat about it anyway. See if you can help me get the whole picture, eh?’
She scooted over and rested her head on his shoulder. ‘Okay.’
Progress, at last.
‘Thought you were finished with all this.’
‘Aye, the stripping, but with Dean dead, Christ… I need to get money from somewhere. Zak isn’t paying for himself, you know? And I can’t go back to Wonderland. The other places in Edinburgh won’t touch me. So I’ve got to go on escort gigs. Shagging fat old wankers like—’ She gasped. ‘Look, I need to get out and work.’
‘This came from an agency?’
‘Yes, just a regular booking.’ Her voice was hollow. ‘Got a text from the agency. Told to come here and ask at reception. There was a note waiting for me – had a keycard and a suite number upstairs.’ She looked up at Cullen, twisting her neck to lock eyes with him. ‘So I got the lift up. The door was open but there was nobody in. Seen that before. The guy trying to impress me with this big fancy suite. So I sat on the sofa in the lounge and drank a cup of tea in my fucking Wonder Woman costume. Felt daft, but it passed the time, you know?’ She waited for him to nod. ‘And then…’ She looked away, then shut her eyes.
Cullen gave her a few seconds but she was gone. ‘What happened, Amy?’
‘This guy… This guy came in. I thought it was the john, but he frowned at me, started acting all weird. Asked if this was a joke.’
Was that the vigilante?
‘What did he look like?’
‘What do you mean?’ Amy shot a glare at him. ‘It was the guy who died.’ She shut her eyes, her lips twisted. ‘But I thought that was his thing, you know, getting off on play-acting some story about walking into the wrong room and being seduced by a sex-starved woman, so I started taking off the costume, acting all sexy…’ She fell silent, her lips slackening as her eyes started to go vacant.
Cullen knew the psychological trauma well. He had a moment to pull her back from staring into the abyss before she was beyond his reach. He grabbed her shoulders.
She gasped, her entire body stiffening as her eyes flew to his.
‘Amy, imagine you’re not here, not physically. You’re watching from a safe place. You’re high above everything, looking down at what happened in that room like it happened in a film. Tell me what you see.’
She blinked.
‘Come on, Amy. I need you to do this for me.’
Her gaze shifted to some point over Cullen’s right shoulder, her eyes flickering like she was sitting in a cinema, munching on popcorn. ‘I… I see the door open and… This man comes in, and he’s dressed as Batman. He’s huge, and he’s… He attacks the guy in the suit, cuts him down with a single punch.’ She flinched. ‘And then he went for me.’ She stopped, her mouth hanging open.
Cullen squeezed her shoulders.
She shook off the shock. ‘But I kicked him in the balls and ran into the hallway. Stopped by the front door, but I didn’t run out. I slammed it as hard as I could and hid. There’s a wee cupboard, and I hid behind the ironing board. When the guy came went out on the corridor to check I was gone, I sneaked back through to the master bedroom and hid under the bed.’ She bit her lip, not seductively but like a small child. ‘Learned that when my dad was drunk.’ Her shoulders sagged. ‘Jesus Christ.’
Cullen gave her another squeeze, gentler. ‘Remember, Amy, you’re high above everything. Nothing can get to you. Just tell me what you see.’
She nodded, her mind already back on the memory. ‘I picked the wrong room to hide in. When the guy came back into the suite, he grabbed the man and pushed him into the master bedroom. The man kept whining at him, saying he couldn’t walk, but then his voice went all gurgly.’ She gasped, slapping her hand to her mouth. ‘The guy cut his throat and the man dropped in front of the bed and… and…’ She choked up. The first tears ran tracks through her smudged make-up and her shoulders star
ted shaking.
Cullen didn’t know what else to do but give them a gentle pat and sit back to give her space.
Methven walked over and whispered at Cullen, ‘That’s the FLO.’
Cullen closed the suite door and signed them out of the crime scene. He took a big breath. ‘I probably shouldn’t say this to you, but whoever killed Williams is most likely the same guy who killed Vardy and McLintock.’ He made eye contact with Methven, seeing the steel reflected. ‘I was thinking he might be saving us a job, but now… Fuck him. Killing those three is one thing, but he would’ve murdered her, too, leaving her kid without a parent and—’
‘What’s worse is that her story doesn’t add up.’ Methven started tearing at his crime-scene suit.
Cullen scowled at Methven. ‘What?’
‘I don’t believe her interpretation of events.’
‘What?’
‘Stop saying that, please.’ Methven tugged off his suit and kicked it into the discard pile. ‘Do you really think Hamish Williams cast her for some sexy roleplay? He was a bereaved homosexual man, merely staying here because of what happened at his home, partly because we won’t let him back, but partly so he doesn’t have to face the memory yet. He was genuinely puzzled to find her waiting in his suite. He was hardly the sort to call a prostitute, let alone a woman.’
Cullen cringed. ‘Sorry, sir. I was focusing on—’
‘Her breasts? Sergeant, you should try to think with more than your penis every now and then.’
‘That’s hardly—’
‘Try to keep your personal feelings out of your professional duties, okay?’ Methven silenced Cullen with a wry grin. ‘You did well in there. Amy isn’t coming out of this in a good way, but you stopped it getting worse. Nipped it in the bud, as it were.’
‘So what do you suggest we do now?’
‘I’d like a bit of initiative from you.’
Cullen stared hard at him, balling his fists again, ready to—
