by Ed James
‘We live in a market economy and it’s what people are prepared to pay.’
‘Aye, well, it’s bullshit.’ Del Keeley stabs a finger at the page. ‘This boy wasn’t reducing the bread enough.’
‘What’s enough?’
‘10p absolute max, obviously.’
‘It’s not obvious to me.’
‘Suit yourself.’
‘So how much was he pricing it at?’
‘20p. That’s outrageous for a loaf of bread.’
She taps the page again. ‘Seem to be a lot of people taking up that offer.’
‘Well, they’re idiots.’
‘I don’t get the problem.’
‘Listen, I’ve got four kids and they go through bread like nobody’s business. Plus all this shite in China? I’ve got a freezer full of bread at home and an attic full of bog paper. You wait, I’m well prepared for the apocalypse. But I’m not going to pay these extortionate rates for a loaf of bread.’
‘You could make it yourself?’
‘Have you seen what they’re charging for flour?’
‘How much do you spend on fuel to travel between these shops?’
‘That’s beside the point.’
‘Sure about that?’
‘Well, they’re all around Isla’s nursery and James’s school, so it’s not exactly out of my way.’ He snarls. ‘And I’ve got a sourdough on the go, but the kids don’t like it, do they? Thanks to their grandmother, all they’ll eat is white bread. With the crusts off! Absolute living hell, I tell you.’
Had enough of this bozo, so I lean over and whisper to Caldwell, ‘This guy is just an idiot taking the mick.’
She nods back, but doesn’t say anything, at least not to me. ‘Where were you last night?’
‘After the supermarket, I collected the kids from afterschool. Then did the usual at home, all night.’
‘And this morning?’
‘Getting the kids ready for school. An absolute bloody nightmare. Then dropping them off and of course that snooty cow who always seems to think it’s weird that a man drops his kids off, she went off on one at me about her kids not getting vaccinated and how mine were endangering hers. I mean—’
‘Aside from this fellow parent, can anyone account for your whereabouts?’
‘Well, the wife got back in about nine, and she was off at the crack of sparrow fart this morning.’
‘Oh?’
‘She’s a lawyer. Working really long hours just now. The world’s going crazy.’
She’s looking at Del Keeley and tapping the page again. ‘Do you know this man?’
‘I told you, he keeps on refusing to reduce the bread to an acceptable level.’
‘Do you know his name?’
‘No!’
Christ, she’s dangerously competent. So I grab the boy’s attention. ‘You were obviously very angry with him, one might say enraged, murderous. Bet you would have liked to be alone with him for a bit with that price gun of his, eh? Did you go there first thing and kill him?’
‘Of course not! I’ve not got the time to have a dump without a kid bursting in, let alone concoct a scheme to murder someone.’
He frowns at the page, then prods the paper. ‘I know him, though. Simon Mowat.’
I snatch up the page. It’s the boy who was mis-pricing a steak. ‘How do you know him?’
‘Sit a few seats down from him at Tynecastle, and I always see him in the shops around this time. Another yellow item fiend.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ I give Caldwell the thumbs up. ‘Let him go, aye?’
She leans over to kill the interview as I’m striding out of the room. Cock on! Good old Brian Bain with a lead. This’ll show fuckin’ Sundance a thing or two.
Elvis is lurking in the room opposite, tapping at a keyboard but with a face like a slapped arse. With piles. That hasn’t wiped properly.
‘You okay there, Paul?’
He looks up at us. ‘I’m going through the data Hunter got and I’ll be buggered if I can make head nor tail of any of it.’
‘Try searching for a Simon Mowat.’
‘How are you spelling that?’
‘S-I-M-O-N.’ Fuckin’ twat.
‘I know that. The surname.’
‘M-O-W-A-T.’
‘Nope.’
‘What do you mean, nope?’
‘Can’t find it.’ He frowns. ‘I’ve got a Simon MOET, like the champagne?’
20
CULLEN
Cullen stayed as far from the body as he could manage, trying to avoid looking at Deeley slicing into flesh.
‘Young Skywalker, I can only apologise for how much of a step down my new lair is from my old one.’
Cullen looked around the ancient room with its vaulted brick ceilings, masked by modern concrete and glass. ‘It’s fine.’
‘Back to the Cowgate and its ageing mortuary, a world away from the high-tech modernity we used to enjoy.’ Something thumped against metal. ‘Police Scotland’s budget couldn’t support our brave new world. The one who suffered most from you all decamping back to St Leonards was me. I’m just collateral damage.’
‘You’ve kept your machines and stuff, though.’
‘When the power’s up and running. It’s sporadic. Through in Glasgow, they have a world-class facility in Govan.’
‘I’ve seen it.’
‘Oh, yes, I forgot.’ Another thud. ‘Well, well, well.’
Cullen finally looked over.
Anderson was standing by the door, smoothing down his goatee. ‘You get that file, Jim?’
‘Sure thing.’ Deeley beamed at him, then picked up a tablet computer. ‘Aha.’ He looked over at Anderson with an arched eyebrow. ‘Sure?’
‘I think so. I just do my bit, you’re responsible for the rest of it.’
Cullen finally took in the body, the pale flesh sliced wide open. Blank eyes, wide-open mouth. ‘You want to tell me what’s going on?’
‘Well, young Skywalker, your friend and mine, James Anderson… Surely he’s not your favourite of the many Jameses in your orbit?’
‘Not even top three.’
Anderson shook his head, a wry grin on his face.
Deeley caressed the cadaver’s cheek like it was a lover. ‘Okay, well, the poisoned meat didn’t kill him. It was the suffocation.’
‘Sure?’
‘As sure as I can be.’ Deeley winced. ‘Whoever did this knocked him out first.’ He tapped the victim’s skull. ‘A blow here, peri-mortem. Blunt-force trauma, so I’d say a baseball bat or a crowbar.’
‘So they might be a reluctant killer?’
‘Good question, young Skywalker. It might just be someone who didn’t like risks. But that’s your job to figure out, not mine.’
‘Still don’t get why they’d stuff meat into his mouth.’
Deeley ran a finger across the victim’s bottom lip. ‘The stickers would’ve secured his mouth and prevented a gag reaction. All the killer would need to do is hold his nose and wait.’
Cullen tried to process it all. Deeley’s take certainly made sense. The shadowy figure on the CCTV coupled with the blow to the head showed a likelier timeline. ‘How long was he lying there?’
‘Not long. Mr Anderson here has managed to confirm that the heating in that place had only been at full blast since quarter to six, not all night. And I’d say that’s your time of death.’ Deeley touched the victim’s top lip and brushed something away. ‘Mr Turnbull’s death was quick. Less than a minute, I’d say.’
Still a horrible way to go. ‘Right. Better go and brief the boss.’
THE COWGATE THRUMMED WITH LIFE, the commuter rush hour kicking in early tonight, cars and lorries all jockeying for position.
Cullen got behind the wheel and started the car. Going to be a while before he could get out into that.
‘Well.’ Sounded like Methven was in his office, shouting into his headset, as per usual these days. ‘Well, it’s a preliminary finding, but we sho
uld progress on that basis now. Do you have a suspect in mind?’
‘The supermarket was involved in a poisoned meat scandal three years previously where five people died. Add in that Philip Turnbull’s father is the local butcher and my alarm bells are ringing loud.’
Silence at the other end of the line.
Cullen pulled off into the slow-moving traffic, heading for the Pleasance and the climb out of the pit of the Cowgate and towards Gilmerton. ‘Sir?’
‘You think he killed his own son?’
‘No, sir. Not yet anyway. But three people died and he clearly profited from it. Hard not to think someone’s got a motive to target his son. Maybe even him.’
21
BAIN
Elvis is behind the wheel and the car’s getting cold already. He points upstairs. ‘The lad lives up there.’
‘Cool.’ I look around the area, just as the streetlights switch on. Bit of a shite street, this. As much as they cleaned up Niddrie, it’s still a fuckin’ cesspit. Lots of posh cars, mind. What does that tell you? ‘Whichever fanny put his record as MOET needs a fuckin’ kick up the hoop.’
‘I’ll hold them down while you kick away, Bri.’
A battered old Nissan pulls up opposite us, and Caldwell gets out in instalments. Christ, but she really is tall.
I open my door but don’t get out. ‘You stay in the car.’
‘Come on, Sarge.’
‘I’m not joking around here, Paul.’ Use his Christian name, show I mean business. ‘If this boy is behind this, chances are he’ll foxtrot oscar, sharpish. I want you in this bad boy, ready to chase him down.’
‘Right.’
Christ, it’s like dealing with a child all over again. ‘Come on, if I knew where the hell Hunter was, I’d give him this donkey work. He’s actually good at chases, but I need you on this. I can trust you.’
He sniffs. ‘Cheers.’
I open the door wide and it’s Baltic out there. ‘Keep your phone on, aye?’
He tugs at the charging cable. ‘Ready and willing.’
‘Good lad.’ I nudge the door shut and make my way across the road.
Caldwell’s scanning the houses. ‘Upstairs, right?’
‘So Elvis says.’
The house is split up like a Battenberg cake, four sections of horror. Lights on in three, bottom left looks empty. Actually, wonder if Ashworth’s are selling off any Battenbergs?
FOCUS.
‘Right, Batgirl. You lead.’
‘Sure.’ She opens the gate and it squeals like someone’s stepped on its ballsack. Four buzzers by the door, though. ‘Mowat, right?’
‘Right.’
She hits one and leans in.
‘Aye?’ Male voice, nasal and distorted.
‘Police, sir.’
‘What?’
‘Police.’
‘Cannae hear you.’ And he’s gone.
‘What is wrong with people?’ She’s hammering the button again. ‘It’s always been like this, hasn’t it?’
‘Nah. In all my days on the force, these are the darkest, that’s for sure.’
She hits the button again and holds it down. ‘Should we—?’
The door clatters open and a hand lashes out, knocking Caldwell’s finger off the button. ‘Quit it! My mother’s asleep!’
It’s the boy from the supermarket, alright. Simon Mowat. The cheeky bastard is getting in her face, but he’s wearing a pinny, all flowers and butterflies. Hope for his sake it’s ironic. He balls up a fist and takes a backswing.
Caldwell might be tall as fuck but she’s fast. She grabs his wrist and twists. The boy’s on his knees before I can think of anything funny to say.
‘Let go of us!’
‘Are you going to calm down?’
‘Aye, aye.’
She looks at me, eyebrows raised, and I nod, so she lets go.
The boy gets back up, rubbing at his wrists. ‘What’s going on?’
Caldwell waves her warrant card in his face. ‘Police.’
‘What?’
‘Need you to come with us to the station, sir.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Aye, you can.’ My turn to take over, throw a bit of seniority around here. ‘And you are.’
‘Are what?’
‘Coming down the station!’
‘But my mum isn’t well! She needs her drugs!’
A voice comes from upstairs, harsh and shrill. ‘Simon, how much longer are my eggs going to be?’
The boy rolls his eyes at us. ‘I’ve got three poaching just now.’
Time for some fuckin’ excellent leadership here. ‘DC Caldwell, I need you to stay and look after her, okay?’
Sounds like she mutters, ‘Fuck sake.’
22
CULLEN
Ashworth’s car park was still empty, with just one bank of lights on inside. No other signs of life and that was probably a security measure.
Cullen rapped on the glass again, though, but it didn’t look like anyone was in there, let alone anyone who could answer the door.
A trail of lights winked on, heading towards them. A lumbering figure appeared around the tills. The cleaner, stomping heavily. The door opened and he peered out. ‘Guys, I’m under pressure here. Just got the go-ahead to open tomorrow and the boss has me doing a deep clean. And I had to get interviewed again, so I’ll be here all night thanks to DI Bain.’
Bain using his previous rank to bully someone. Great.
‘Well, that’s news to me.’ Cullen checked his phone and had a missed call from Methven and an accompanying text.
Ashw open tomorrow. Please call me
Nothing from Bain, though. Sneaky bugger was hiding something.
Cullen focused on the cleaner again. ‘Thanks for agreeing to interview. It might help us solve this case.’
‘Won’t help me clean this place, though. My boss is going apeshit.’
Hunter stepped forward. ‘You find your key yet?’
‘Nope. Weird as hell. I think a ghost took it, mind.’
‘A ghost?’
‘Aye. My flat’s haunted. This old wifie, occasionally see her. She moves stuff around. She must’ve taken it.’
Hunter shook his head. ‘Is Adam Searle here?’
‘Aye, just in his office on the phone to management. Want me to show you through?’
‘Please.’ Hunter let Cullen go first.
Cullen kept pace with the cleaner, but it was slow going. ‘You work here during that meat poisoning scandal?’
‘Shitest business, aye. Kept thinking this place was going to shut. Had to get in a load of investment, way I hear it.’ The cleaner tapped his nose. ‘Saudi money.’
Cullen caught Hunter’s smirk. ‘Right.’
‘My theory is it was Mossad behind it, but it could be the CIA, at a push.’
‘Anyone lose their job?’
‘Well, Adam almost did. He was the butcher, wasn’t he? Kept getting fingered for it, but they think it was an outside job.’
‘Who do?’
‘Management. Brought in a private eye to look into it.’
‘Not the police?’
‘Oh aye, couldn’t move for you lot sniffing around, but I think that was you lot just installing security measures to monitor me. The way Adam explained it, though, management just wanted assurance that it wasn’t anything really snide. Sometimes people don’t want to talk to feds, but they’ll talk to a PI.’
Seemed strange to Cullen, but then he’d seen his share of corporate tricks and bullshit. ‘But Mr Searle kept his job?’
‘Got promoted, if you ask me.’ Ross sniffed. ‘Course, it was kind of compensation.’
‘What for?’
‘Well, Adam lost his daughter to some poisoned meat.’
Cullen stopped, just metres from the door to the back of the shop. ‘You’re serious?’
‘Aye. Adam and his missus were both ill, but they pulled through. Their kid was in the hospital and died. And
now his wife won’t even speak to him.’
Cullen charged off through the door into the back room, then darted up the steps. The staff canteen was dead, but a light haloed the office door. Cullen tore it open.
Adam Searle was sitting behind the desk, feet up, on the phone. ‘Well, he’s going to see if he can. It’s been hell.’ He squinted round at them. ‘Gotta go.’ He jerked upright. ‘What’s up?’
Cullen walked up to the desk and stood far enough away to be irritating. ‘You didn’t think to tell us about your daughter?’
‘Shite.’ Searle collapsed back against his desk, knocking the phone onto the floor. ‘Shite.’
‘A man’s dead and you didn’t think to say that you had a motive?’
‘Shite.’
‘Where is your ex-wife?’
‘What?’ Searle sniffed. ‘Haven’t heard from Jen for months until the divorce hearing last night. Said she had a bit of bother at work and was off on holiday.’
‘Where does she work?’
‘The university.’
‘Jen?’ Cullen shut his eyes. No, no, no, no. ‘Is her name Jenny Black?’
‘Maiden name, aye. Why?’
‘That bother at work? She was sleeping with a student. Stole an exam paper. The student was Philip Turnbull.’
‘Oh my god.’ Searle covered his mouth with his hand. ‘My effing therapist says I should be more sympathetic, about how we both went through the same thing. It’s just really hard when she cuts you out of her life and blames you for everything that happened. Jen always blamed Phil’s dad for the tainted meat, reckoned he planted it in the shop.’
TURNBULL’S WAS SHUT. No lights on inside, even in the faint twilight.
Hunter peered though the glass. ‘Take me through your logic again.’
‘Craig, I haven’t got time for this.’
‘Come on, Scott. What makes you think Turnbull Senior is at risk?’
‘Jen Black killed his son. Clonked him on the head then suffocated him. She watched him die. That’s cold, hard revenge.’
