by Ed James
Two doors, both open.
Shite, which one?
He kept going straight and slapped his hands against the wood, smashing the door against the wall. Nothing in the room but a stripped double bed, an empty wardrobe and a closed window. He wheeled around to run back out, but the door hit him on the rebound, right on the point of his shoulder.
Shite!
The pain flashed white in his head. He kicked the door out of his way and went back out into the hallway. Two steps and he was at the other door, grabbing the handle this time, controlling the swing as he pushed it open.
A kitchen. Big table in the middle. Two people sitting at it, Sharon and Hunter, staring at him wide-eyed, both bound to their chairs with brown parcel tape, gagged with more tape, lengths of it stuck over their mouths to muffle their excited screams.
Cullen glanced at the kitchen counter, saw a block of knives. He grabbed the biggest one, a serrated blade, and sliced through the tape wrapped round Sharon’s torso, careful not to cut her. She stiffened, her eyes watching his every move, paralysed by panic. Her arms came free and she arched away from the knife, her fingers going for the tape on her mouth, fumbling at the edges. Her wide-eyed gaze shot past Cullen’s bashed shoulder.
Cullen turned at the source of her terror and caught a fist straight in the face.
42
Cullen jerked awake. A deep rumbling vibrated through him. His head hurt like a wrecking ball had smashed into it.
Not a wrecking ball. A fist.
Lamb’s fist.
Where the hell is he?
And where the hell am I?
Pitch black on all sides. Cullen glanced around, opening his eyes as far as his headache would let him. Just little stars spinning around. Must’ve been a hell of a punch.
He tried to move, but couldn’t. Something bound his hands behind his back. Something sticky. Parcel tape?
He was lying flat on something. The vibration was shifting up and down. Was it the back seat of a car?
He craned his neck round and saw Lamb, his tense face glowing a sickly blue sheen, lit up by the dashboard. The night outside was a wall of darkness only pierced by the occasional orange streetlight, but the sodium glow was too weak to let Cullen see where they were.
Somewhere with a lot of shrubs and trees. Somewhere remote. Somewhere nobody would find him.
He sat up and blinked a few times, trying to make his vision adjust but his head throbbed harder.
How long was I out for?
Lamb’s eyes flicked to the rear-view mirror. ‘Welcome back. Sorry about the punch.’
‘You—’ Cullen lay back on the seat. He’d expected sarcasm in Lamb’s voice, but he sounded truly sorry. ‘Where are we, Bill?’
‘Arthur’s Seat.’
Cullen caught a glimpse of city lights as they rounded a bend.
‘Where are we going?’
‘You’ll see.’ Lamb turned his attention back to the road, his mouth set in a tight line. Conversation over. Just the low rumble of the engine and the tyres whispering on tarmac.
Cullen blinked again and this time it sharpened his vision, enough to notice rows of faint silver silhouettes swishing past the windows. Bushes outlined by a smattering of distant stars, lining either side of a narrow black band of roadway that curved up a slope in a long right bend.
Must be on Queen’s Drive.
Duddingston’s the other side of the hill. If I can just get out of this, get over there and call someone. Methven, Buxton, hell, even Bain.
Elvis!
Cullen flexed his chest, felt his phone digging into his sternum, and whispered, ‘You still there?’
No response.
Shite.
Cullen shifted round, getting a better look at Lamb. ‘You know as well as I do that you can’t walk away from this one. Even if you kill me.’
‘I’m not stupid.’ Said without emotion.
‘If you knew you’d get caught in the end, why did you do it?’
‘Because it’s the right thing to do.’ Lamb glanced in the mirror, but there was no irritation in his eyes, just purpose. He looked back out at the road. ‘But there’s no rush with what I’m about to do.’ He pulled over into a parking bay looking down on the dark waters of Duddingston Loch. The lights of southern Edinburgh dotted the horizon like tiny votive candles. Lamb killed the engine, then sat there staring out, his face disappearing as the dash lights died. ‘Vardy was a rapist and a murderer. The lowest of the low.’ His voice had the dispassionate certainty of the final judgement.
Cullen lay there, hating himself for getting it right. ‘You think you’re above the law.’
‘And Vardy didn’t?’ Lamb’s teeth caught the faint moonlight. He was looking at Cullen through the rear-view. ‘That bastard literally got away with murder, several times, all thanks to those lawyers. Pair of them, lining their pockets with his filthy cash, earnt by pumping heroin onto our streets. Vardy ruined lives. Ended them.’ He paused for a moment, then gave his eyes a quick wipe and turned round to face Cullen, kneeling on the driver’s seat. ‘Few years back, my kid sister got snared in one of Vardy’s schemes. Prick got her hooked on smack then had her working as a whore down in Leith. This was before Wonderland, of course. Way before. Debbie was a good kid. Didn’t deserve what that vermin did to her.’
Cullen couldn’t see Lamb’s eyes in the dark, but he could feel them drilling into him with red-hot agony. ‘I’m sorry, Bill. I had no idea.’
‘Neither did I, until it was too late. We’d lost touch. I was busy – she was supposed to be training as a hairdresser through here. Our parents died not long before she moved. Twelve years between us. Too big a gap, you know? Debbie died of sepsis. Doctor reckoned it was caused by dirty heroin. Guess who sold her that?’
Cullen tried shifting his weight, maybe toppling off the back seat into the footwell. But no dice. He was rooted to the spot.
‘Those lawyers. Pair of pricks. They kept getting him off on technicalities or when one witness after another conveniently disappeared or turned up dead just ahead of a trial. All while everybody knew why. And nobody did anything about it.’ Lamb barked out a laugh. ‘Nobody took that bastard off the board. They could have. I mean, Wilko had any number of minor crimes he could’ve nailed him for. Same with Crystal sodding Methven. They just didn’t. But those two, with their massive mansion. Their secret love. Like they were respectable, especially repping that vermin. Kept on reducing our justice system to a farce. Makes me sick to the back teeth.’
‘I share your frustration, Bill. I’ve tried to—’
Lamb just grunted. He leaned between the front seats, his boozy breath hissing right into Cullen’s face. ‘The world is a much better place without men like Vardy, McLintock and Williams. And it’s a better place without people who failed to stop them.’
It hit Cullen like a fist in the back of the head.
It wasn’t just Vardy and his shysters on Lamb’s list.
Cops like Cullen, too. Wilkinson, Methven, even Lamb himself.
We all played a part in letting them do it. We’d all known full well that a notorious rapist and murderer was getting off by sneaking through legal loopholes or by murdering or intimidating witnesses, and yet we’d taken no personal action to plug those holes. Just hid behind professional excuses.
We let witnesses die, let prosecutions die.
We let Vardy back on the streets.
‘What about Amy?’
‘Amy…’ Lamb chuckled. ‘She had three chances to take him down. Three. First, when Vardy nonced her. Wilko knew, kept that from the world. Second, when Vardy raped her. Pulled out of that one, didn’t she? Third, when Vardy FUCKING SHOT SOMEONE IN FRONT OF HER.’
The words rattled round the car.
‘Bill, she’s not even eighteen.’
‘Debbie was fucking eighteen when she died. Old enough to drink, fuck and vote.’
‘You would’ve killed her, wouldn’t you?’
‘Amy For
rest knew what she was doing.’ Lamb pushed himself forward, the outline resting between the seats. ‘You may not want to hear this, Scott, but cops like your ex-fiancé Sharon and her Sex Offences Unit, they’re just as bad. Maybe worse. They’re enablers. They had all the evidence they needed to take one case after another to court, but they just sat on it, building a prosecution. Strategic policing, they call it. Absolute bullshit. Even lowly constables like your mate Hunter had enough information that he could’ve prosecuted that raping bastard, but no. Sharon should’ve put Vardy behind bars, but they just watched and waited and did FUCK ALL. She wanted to blow the case up to secure a longer jail sentence, manoeuvring herself into position to advance her career with a big day in court. I know her, Scott. I went up against her for this job. I won, but I know the pair of you. Always moaning about your careers, like that’s the important thing here. It makes no difference. If she’d acted when she could’ve – hadn’t sat on her fucking hands – Vardy wouldn’t have raped six women. Six. That’s just the ones we know about. God knows how many others died of ODs.’
Something’s not right here.
It’s like he’s in court, delivering his prosecution speech.
But I’m not in the dock with the others. Sharon, Methven, Wilkinson, Hunter, Amy. I’m the jury,
He’s pleading with me, rather than telling me why he’s handing me the death penalty.
But whatever he’s about to do, it’s time to end this. Get a confession, get Elvis to play the recording in court, even if I won’t be there to see Lamb get his justice.
‘Bill, why are you telling me all of this? You trying to convince yourself you’re doing the right thing before you kill me?’
‘Kill you?’ Lamb sounded genuinely confused. ‘Why would I do that?’
‘Didn’t you just say it yourself? That old phrase – the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.’
Lamb sighed, a weary, defeated sound. ‘That’s not what I meant. I meant deliberate sabotage and suppression of evidence. And worst of all, careerism. Ironically enough, I don’t expect cops to be vigilantes.’
Cullen couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Really?’
In the darkness, Lamb seemed to nod, but maybe less in agreement than in confirmation that there was no turning back now. ‘I know I’m a hypocrite –putting myself above the law – but it was the only way to get to those bastards. The only way to bring this corrupt business empire down before it cost the lives of more innocent people. And the only way to expose Wilkinson.’
‘What’s Wilkinson got to do with this?’
‘You don’t know?’ Lamb shifted back, his knees squeaking on the leather. ‘He’s the reason every case against Vardy fell apart. Every single one. Whatever others did or didn’t do to secure convictions, Wilkinson leaked information to Vardy and McLintock. Protected him for years. Told him who the witnesses were and where to find them. All for money. I knew we had a mole. Thought it was you or that chump Methven. Maybe Sharon. Nah, I knew it wasn’t her. So I followed you all, kept tabs on your spending. But Wilko… Now, Wilko was the only one who gave himself away. On Monday night, I followed him to Vardy’s bar. Thought he was being smart, didn’t he? Pretending to fight him. Got you, didn’t it? Sunday night, right, he came up here. This spot. I sat in the shadows, watching that prick meeting someone. I got a note of the licence plate and ran a check. The boy’s a PI. He works for McLintock.’
Felt like Cullen had been punched in the gut this time. He struggled to breathe. ‘He was leaking Amy’s ID.’
‘See what I mean?’ Lamb leaned forward, his teeth glinting in the pale moonlight. ‘They gave me no choice. A bent cop selling us all out, just for a bit of shiny. Selling the identify of an underage rape victim for cash. Even the PF didn’t know who our witness was. Christ knows what Wilko was playing at. Maybe some leverage over Vardy. But his incompetence let that animal back out on the street to kill and rape and poison.’
Cullen’s head was spinning. ‘It’s not too late. You can give evidence against Wilko.’
‘Scott, I’ve got nothing that could absolutely confirm it. No solid evidence trail. You know how hard it is to prosecute a serving officer? And Professional Standards and Ethics are useless. Bunch of clowns couldn’t catch a—’
‘Now. You can come forward now, Bill. Go on the record, take Wilko down.’
‘Seriously?’ Lamb snorted. ‘It’s way too late for that. I’ve murdered three people. I did the right thing by killing those scumbags, but a cop’s life in prison is just about the only thing worse than death. I know I deserve it, but… but it wouldn’t be right to drag my family through that. The shame—’
‘For fuck’s sake, Bill. You tried to kill Amy, a single mother with a young son. Nobody to look after him if you’d been successful.’
‘Then he’d go into care. Roll the dice, even if it’s a one, it’ll be a damn sight better than that stupid wee tart.’ Lamb pulled his head back through the seats. ‘Amy should’ve testified, but she didn’t. She let that bastard walk away because going on the stand might’ve made things a bit inconvenient for her.’
‘A bit inconvenient? She was barely sixteen. And he threatened to—’
‘I know, I know, but…’ Lamb sounded like he was talking to a petulant teenager with zero understanding of the moral complexity of adult life. ‘Come on, Scott, compare the short-lived inconvenience of witness protection, which she and her boy would’ve been guaranteed, with Vardy getting off and raping all those other girls, one after the other.’
Cullen swallowed hard, his throat thick with mucus. He didn’t have any words.
Lamb took something from the passenger seat and passed it through the seats, little more than a shadow in the night. ‘Take this.’
Cullen reached for the shape without thinking, but the parcel tape cut into his wrists. He hissed. ‘Cut that bloody tape off me.’
‘Oh, aye. Right.’ Lamb’s leather jacket rustled and something caught the pale light, a long triangle. ‘Come on then, twist around so I can get to your hands.’ The cabin light switched on and a Stanley blade flashed.
Cullen squeezed his eyes shut against the glare.
‘Oh, and Scott? Don’t do anything stupid after I cut that tape. We’re not done yet.’
Cullen nodded, his eyes open again.
Lamb sliced the tape with one flick of the wrist, then killed the light.
Cullen blinked a few times to make his eyes adjust back to the dark.
The shadowy shape loomed in front of his face. This time, Cullen’s hands obeyed his order and he grabbed a paper file.
‘You asked me why I was telling you this whole story. This is why. This evidence will put Wilkinson behind bars. And so you’ll understand what I have to do now. There’s no other way and you know it, so don’t bother arguing.’ Lamb fell silent.
‘Jesus, Bill, please do—’
‘Get out.’
‘What?’
‘You heard.’
What the hell is he doing?
Oh no. No, no, no.
‘I heard you, Bill, but fuck this. Fuck this shit, Bill. You can’t expect me to assist you in your own murder.’
Silence.
‘Scott…’ There was a new tone in his voice now. Disappointment. ‘That night, outside Campbell McLintock’s house. I’d got him to call you, set you up as a patsy. But then you saw it and… You chased me and I almost killed you. You’re a good man, Scott. Too good to go like that.’
‘Bill, it’s not too late.’
‘Listen, get out and take that file. Finish what I started. Put that scumbag Wilkinson behind bars and end this whole thing. Then at least my work will have served a purpose, even if you think I’m now taking the easy way out by killing myself.’
‘Bill, no—’
‘After what I’ve done, murdering three men… I’m just as bad as them. Fuck that. If they had to die, so do I.’ Lamb’s voice was a hollow rasp. ‘Besides, I’ve messed
up pretty much everything else in my life. So, please. Get out.’
Cullen stared at the dark shape that used to be his friend. For a moment, they were both perfectly still.
Then Lamb jerked his head at the door and the Stanley knife caught in the light.
This time Cullen didn’t object. Just got out and let the door snap shut behind him. He gazed down, straining his ears in the deathly silence until they started ringing.
But the noise wasn’t in his head, it was an ambulance, powering up the hill towards them.
Elvis!
Cullen reached into his pocket for his phone.
Something sharp bit into his neck. ‘Stay still.’ The front door clicked shut and, from the sound of his voice, Lamb was looking straight at Cullen. ‘Come on, Scott.’ He pressed the Stanley blade to Cullen’s neck and marched him away from the idling car. ‘That’ll do.’
Cullen flinched, staring at the black sky while the distant stars went blurry.
‘One last favour.’ Lamb barked out a laugh. ‘You know, the saddest thing is that, after forty-two years on this terrible planet, you’re the only friend I can trust to do the right thing.’ He sheathed the blade, the leather giving a strange sucking sound. ‘It may not mean much to you, coming from me, but you’re a good man, Scott. I’ve always believed that.’
‘Bill, what the—’
Lamb pushed Cullen hard, kicking his legs back so he flew backwards. Cullen’s arse cracked off a rock, sending a jolt up his spine. In the gloom, he caught a blurry wave from the dark shape in front of him, then could only watch as Lamb dived backwards off the cliff edge.
43
‘No!’ Cullen jerked upright, frantically searching the dark scrub ahead of him for signs of Bill Lamb. But it was just darkness beyond the cliff, the hard wind buffeting him.
Below, something landed with a dull thud. Bill Lamb.
The tears stung his eyes – the wind lashing them against his cheeks and ears.
Jesus Christ.
Jesus Christ, Bill. Why? Why did you have to do that?
The ambulance roared towards him, followed by two squad cars, their lights and sirens blaring in the darkness.
