by Ed James
Cullen patted his pocket and felt the hard shape of his phone. He got it out and put it to his ear. ‘You still there?’ His voice sounded thick with tears.
‘Course I am.’ Sounded like Elvis was yawning. ‘Is he okay?’
Cullen’s gaze was drawn back to the darkness beyond the vague outline of the cliff, to the shafts of light coming from Edinburgh.
‘Scott? Did you hear me?’
‘Aye, I heard you. He’s dead.’
Elvis gasped down the line. ‘Well, the good news is I heard every word. Got it all, just like you asked.’
Cullen stood there, letting the night reclaim its silence. The siren climbed the hill, making his head feel like an echo chamber.
Lamb’s final words blurred with the wail of the ambulance:
You’re the only friend I can trust to do the right thing.
Cullen clutched the phone tight in his hand. ‘Delete it.’
Elvis gasped again. ‘What?’
‘I said, delete it.’
Silence.
Cullen wasn’t sure if they were on the same page. So he made sure. ‘Promise me you’ll delete the recording.’
‘Alright, fine. It’s done. I’ve sent an ambulance out to your location. I was tracking your phone. Weird how Lamb didn’t take it.’
‘Maybe he knew.’ Cullen held his phone out to kill the call, then put it back. ‘Have you found Sharon and—’
‘Aye, we got them both.’ A high-pitched laugh. ‘Craig pished himself. Actually pished himself. Big yellow puddle under his chair. Can you imagine?’
‘I can. And it’s not funny.’
‘Come on, man. It is. Big Craig’d be the—’
‘Look, whatever. Is DI Wilkinson still in custody?’
‘What?’
‘Just check for me.’ Cullen ended the call and slid the phone back into his pocket.
Cullen squinted as the ambulance pulled over at the side of the road, the blue lights strobing. The siren cut out mid-wail and several doors banged shut. Two female paramedics jumped out, their green uniforms and high-viz vests catching the headlights. They rushed towards him – boots slapping off the tarmac – and another car pulled up. Two men in dark suits jumped out.
Cullen waited for the ambulance crew to come within earshot. ‘I’m fine!’ He pointed at the cliff. ‘He went down there.’
They switched direction, but kept running, their torches flashing as they tracked the path Lamb had taken over the edge. The paramedics started climbing down the steep slope.
Cullen set off towards Lamb’s Audi. Need to get out of here. Get miles away. Anywhere but here.
‘Sergeant.’ Methven stood there, blocking Cullen’s path, looking him up and down, the lights strobing off him. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Just… shocked. We had a chat. Then…’ Cullen pointed at the cliff. ‘Then he must have hit some ice or…’
Methven looked right at him, backlit by the car and the ambulance. ‘I assume Lamb only wanted to chat to exonerate himself of the vigilante killings?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Of course. And would I be right in assuming you believe him?’
You’re the only friend I can trust to do the right thing.
‘Aye. It was… Jesus Christ, it was an accident.’ Cullen’s coccyx throbbed, like when he’d last been mountain biking. ‘He pushed me back. I slipped, but he saved me. Jesus Christ.’
Methven crouched down in front of him. ‘What’s this?’
Cullen glanced down. Lamb’s file. He had forgotten all about it. ‘Wilkinson.’ He pulled out his phone. ‘We need to get to Wilkinson.’
‘What’s DI Wilkinson got to do with it?’
‘Have a look.’
Methven turned towards the light to take a better look at the file.
Cullen put his mobile to his ear and listened to the ringtone. ‘Yvonne, it’s Scott. Is DI Wilkinson still in custody?’
‘What the hell, Scott? It’s the middle of the night.’ She sounded sleepy.
‘Yes or no?’
‘No. Listen, I’m trying to sleep, thank you very much.’
‘Where is he?’
‘What? Well we had no evidence against Wilkinson so Lennox said he’d just go through the motions with the interview, then send him home. That was hours ago.’
‘Shite.’ Cullen hung up, his eyes locked on the backlit outline of Methven’s head. All he could see of the face was a dark, empty space. ‘They let Wilko go. Lennox. They—’
His phone went off in his hand. He stared at the bright screen. Elvis. He held his hand up as he put his mobile to his ear. ‘What’s up?’
‘Just calling to let you know that the uniforms I sent round to Wilkinson’s house when Lamb accused him in that conversation that somehow got deleted have—’
‘You lost it?’
‘Aye, sarge.’ Elvis sighed. ‘Sorry.’
‘Wait, why did you send them round?’
‘Wilko got let go. Thing is, the uniforms just called in. Wilko’s not at home. No sign of him.’
‘Fuck!’
‘I know. Listen, I’ll make a few more calls, see if I can locate him.’
‘Thanks.’ Cullen ended the call and slid the phone back into his pocket.
Methven looked up from the file. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Wilkinson’s gone.’ Cullen set off away from him. ‘I need to find him.’
Methven stepped in his way and put a firm hand on his chest. ‘No, Cullen, you need explain everything now. One moment you’re chasing Lamb, and next I know he’s gone off a cliff. For all I know you orchestrated this wee accident here.’
Cullen clenched his jaw. For a second, he thought about barging past his boss and going it alone. But he stopped.
Methven pushed a little harder. ‘Explain yourself right now or we do this back at the station.’
‘You’re driving.’
Methven powered across the roundabout by Pollock Halls, the student accommodation lit up in the night. ‘What the hell were you doing up there with him?’
‘We were talking. Lamb had that file. Then he…’ Cullen leaned forward, the seatbelt digging into his neck. ‘He…’
Methven narrowed his eyes. ‘You expect me to believe that sodding nonsense?’
‘You’ve known me for a few years now, sir. That’s not the first time I’ve been left alone in a remote place after pissing someone off.’
Methven pulled right at the lights and joined the traffic back towards the station. ‘You’ve got until St Leonards to talk me out of putting you in cuffs, Sergeant.’
‘Lamb knew we were onto him.’ Cullen was sweating in the cold car. ‘But he swore he wasn’t the vigilante. He gave me that file, but I still didn’t believe him. So he got pissed off with me, told me to get out. Said he needed to speak to Angela.’
‘And where’s your car?’
‘Tollcross. We met there and he drove.’ Cullen was pleading with him now. ‘I didn’t believe him, but then… Jesus Christ, Bill’s dead now. He slipped on the ice and he…’ It all sounded so hollow.
Methven pulled into the St Leonards car park and took out his cuffs. ‘Time’s up.’
‘Look, hear me out, okay? This is what Lamb told me before he drove off. Wilkinson is the leak. Sold every bit of evidence we collected against him to that scumbag McLintock. Made sure that all the Vardy cases were thrown out of court.’
‘Well, that’s all in the file.’
‘I haven’t even read it, sir. That’s just what he told me.’
‘He’s got photographs, call records, cash paid into DI Wilkinson’s bank account. It’s all there.’
‘So you believe me?’
‘I believe Bill. Not you.’
‘Look, we need to find Wilkinson. He’s the one we’re after. Him. Lamb’s…’ Cullen swallowed hard. The grief hit him again, several smacks in the face, an uppercut to the chin. ‘Bill’s gone. Don’t let his death be in vain.’
‘His li
ttle accident.’ Methven shook his head. ‘Sodding hell.’ He reached onto the back seat for something. ‘The thing I can’t figure out is why he left this behind.’ He dumped a bag on Cullen’s lap.
Something black caught the light. A stale, sweaty smell. The Batman costume.
Cullen shut his eyes. ‘You took this from his flat?’
‘I thought it was… wise.’ Methven took back the bag and dumped it behind Cullen’s chair. ‘So where is Wilkinson?’
‘That’s the thing. I don’t know. He’s gone to ground.’ Cullen opened the passenger door but stopped. ‘Look, Wilkinson was in Vardy’s pocket, right?’
‘Go on.’
‘Two of Vardy’s goons attacked Wilko, remember? Saved by the vigilante. They’re still in custody. Jason Gallagher shot Sammy McLean, our witness in Xena Farley’s murder. Result: Vardy walked free, again. Gallagher works for Vardy. So does Wilko.’
Methven sighed, sounding about as frustrated as Cullen felt. ‘You want to speak to him, don’t you?’
‘You got a better idea?’
‘Get away!’ Gallagher covered his face with his hands. The cell was dark and cold. Just the three of them. ‘I’ve not done anything!’
‘Calm down.’ Cullen crouched in front of the bunk. ‘We just need a word, Jason.’
Gallagher pushed himself further away, bunching up the blankets. ‘I’m supposed to have been in court by now. You lot can’t keep doing this!’
‘Doing what, Jason?’
‘Battering me in the middle of the night! I’ve done nothing!’
‘Look, I’m here to let you go. Come on.’
‘What?’ Gallagher made eye contact. ‘You’re letting me out?’
‘Aye, come on.’ Cullen held out a hand. ‘We’re dropping the charges.’
Gallagher pushed himself to the edge of the bunk and dangled his legs down. ‘Serious?’
‘Aye. Need me to call anyone?’
‘Nah, I’ll walk.’ Gallagher got up and stretched. ‘Can you pass my trackies, man?’
‘Sure.’ Cullen reached over to the chair and picked up the dangling tracksuit. But he didn’t hand it over. ‘Actually, I might have to drive you myself.’
Gallagher frowned, reaching out for his clothes.
‘I’m worried about you, Jason. See, the word on the street is that you’re getting out because you ratted on your dear departed boss, Mr Dean Vardy.’
Gallagher sat down again, the bunk creaking. ‘What?’
‘Not just on Dean, though. I mean, he’s dead, what would we gain by getting your co-operation? No, Jason, his empire is being divided up as we speak. And by the kind of men who are very interested in what you’ve been talking about. Well-connected men. Men who’ve been balls deep in Vardy’s various schemes. Men who wonder what you know and what you’re talking about. And they’re very interested in speaking to you about what you knew and what you talked about in here.’ Cullen clapped him on the shoulder and left a pause.
Gallagher’s eyes went wide, his mouth-breathing getting louder and louder.
‘So you’ll be glad that I will give you a lift to wherever you want. Make sure nobody gets to you.’
Gallagher pushed back to the wall, bringing his knees up to his chest. ‘What do you want?’
‘Paul Wilkinson.’
Gallagher’s face filled with panic, his lip quivering. ‘What?’
‘You and your mate attacked him, didn’t you?’
‘Battered him, too.’
‘That attack was a fake, wasn’t it?’
‘Fuck it…’ Gallagher huffed. ‘Wilkinson organised it. Got worried you lot were on to him or some other shite. Or what the fuck do I know? He just wanted us to stage an attack on him, throw the scent off. That’s all that was, I swear. I never tried to kill a cop. Oh fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck—’
‘Calm down, Jason. I already know that. And I believe you. I honestly do. I just need you to tell me where Wilkinson would go.’
Methven took the first exit with screeching tyres that were still filling Cullen’s nostrils with the acrid stink of burning rubber when they slalomed into Dumbiedykes. ‘Which building?’
Cullen leaned forward, gripping the ‘oh-shit’ handle tight. ‘Holyrood Court. Next left.’
Methven slammed on the brake and shot out of the car, leaving the engine running.
Cullen unclipped his seatbelt and scrambled after him, piling through the tower block’s entrance, then across the foyer and into the stairwell, flying up the steps at a full-on sprint. Cullen lost sight of Methven on the fourth floor, just as his phone rang.
Yvonne.
He slowed to answer it, thankful for the chance to catch his breath. ‘You okay?’
‘I’m okay, but I can’t get hold of Terry.’ She paused, sounded like she was driving somewhere. ‘He was going to drop Wilkinson off.’
Shite.
Cullen played it through. Each time he came up with the same conclusion. Wilkinson had Lennox in the flat.
‘Stay on the line!’ Cullen set off again and reached the fifth-floor landing, his pulse hammering in his ears as he barrelled through the door and thundered down the corridor.
Methven stood there, waiting. Not even out of breath.
Cullen put his ear to the door, sucking in deep breaths.
Silence.
He whispered: ‘I think Lennox is in there. What’s the play here?’
Methven gave it a moment’s thought, then did the usual policeman’s knock.
Cullen heard muffled voices. He stood up and got away from the door.
It opened, just a crack, but far enough to see a face. Lennox, his eyes wide with fear.
Cullen tried to lock eyes with Lennox. ‘Terry, is DI Wilkinson in there?’
Lennox swallowed. Said nothing.
‘Just blink once for yes.’
Lennox blinked, once.
‘Did he tell you to send me away and not talk to me?’
Another blink.
‘Is he armed?’
Blink.
Cullen nodded. ‘Alright, go back inside and tell him I’ve just come to talk. I’m alone, I have news he’ll want to hear, and I’m unarmed.’
Lennox stared at him.
‘Go.’
The door closed. Then opened to the full width. Lennox stood there. ‘Come in, but do it slowly and keep your hands up so he can see you really are unarmed.’
Cullen raised his hands, taking his time to step through the doorway.
Lennox matched his pace, keeping his distance as he retreated.
Wilkinson was standing at the far side of the hallway, pointing a gun at Lennox. ‘Why shouldn’t I just shoot you both?’
Cullen cleared his throat. ‘Put the gun down. I’m here to talk.’
‘Then talk.’
Small step by small step, Cullen was moving to the other side of the room, slowly putting as much distance as possible between himself and Lennox, forcing Wilkinson to split his attention. ‘We’ve got evidence.’
‘You’ve got nothing.’
‘Lamb has a file. All your payments, phone calls and meetings with McLintock’s PI. And I’m on an open line to… to St Leonards right now.’ Cullen lowered his head and glanced at his chest. ‘My phone’s in my pocket. You can check, if you want?’
Wilkinson snorted. ‘And come close enough for you to get handsy with me? How stupid do you think I am?’ His gun hand was starting to shake.
‘I’m not here to fight with you. It’s not too late to stop this. As it stands, you’ll only face charges for obstructing an investigation. Those charges will go up to multiple homicide if you shoot us.’ Cullen inclined his head at Lennox.
Wilkinson’s eyes flashed over.
Getting through to him at last.
‘Sir, nothing good will come of killing two fellow officers.’
Wilkinson lowered the gun, his hand shaking. His gaze drifted towards the window next to him and he flinched. It was dark outside, but the bright fl
at turned the glass into a mirror. He stared at his reflection. Bloodshot eyes, large sweat stains under the arms of his checked shirt, a shiny black gun in his tired hand.
He was fucked, and he knew it.
Wilkinson turned back to Cullen, the gun twitching at his side. ‘I don’t believe for a second that you’ve got anything on me. I don’t believe that you’re on the phone to anyone. But it doesn’t matter. My only way out is to kill you and your backup, right?’ He swept the gun up in a big, wide arc and pointed it at Cullen. ‘Though I do fancy my—’
Before Cullen could move a muscle, Lennox threw himself across the flat, diving headfirst into Wilkinson. A shot went off. Glass smashed and someone screamed.
44
Cullen sat in the station canteen, alone with his thoughts. The past days kept coming back to him in fragments…
A knife attacker slashing the throat of a naked man.
A gun going off, the bullet missing him by inches. Millimetres even.
A man tumbling from the fifth floor, not high enough to turn him into pavement pizza, but high enough to shatter his bones and kill him.
He shut down each thought, forcing them into the dark corner of his mind where he kept all of his old cases, and told himself they were in the past.
And the past can’t hurt you anymore, right?
Like hell it can’t.
‘Thank you.’
Cullen looked up.
Sharon stood there, a blanket draped over her shoulders. She scraped back the chair and sat opposite him. ‘You saved my life.’
Cullen couldn’t even look at her.
‘Scott, you put your life at risk to save mine and Craig’s. I’ll never forget that.’
Cullen gritted his teeth. ‘It’s nothing.’
‘It’s not nothing. Quit with the bullshit, okay?’ She reached over for his hands. ‘Bill came after us because he thought we’d let the public down. Left Vardy on the street. He tied us up, gagged us. Then he started asking us what we knew about Wilkinson. He seemed calm, reasonable even. Craig helped me try and talk him out of it. Try to persuade him to turn himself in. But Bill lost it. Raged at us, saying we had betrayed our duty as cops, as though we had just killed three people, not him.’
