by Ed James
Something thuds in Shepherd’s cupboard. ‘What have we here?’
I give up checking the fridge and wander over. Wish that hadn’t happened. Love a bit of gossip, me.
Shepherd’s standing by a locked door. ‘Rest of the house sounds empty, but this is locked. Doesn’t that strike you as a bit odd?’
‘Extremely.’ I’ve got my phone out and am calling Buxton. ‘Here, King Dong, you boys got anything upstairs?’
‘Two rooms down, nothing so far.’
‘Rightio.’ I end the call. ‘What do you think?’
‘We need to get through there.’
So I give him a wide grin. ‘Use the force, Luke.’
Shepherd stares hard at us. Poor sap’s probably heard that a million times. Well, tough. ‘Stand back.’
‘You’re going to batter it down?’
‘I’ve searched for a key. Nothing. If she’s down there, we might be able to save her life.’
I doubt she’s anywhere near here, of course. Trouble with cops like Shepherd is they’ve got a hero complex like you wouldn’t believe. Always have to be the knight in shining armour.
He lashes out with his foot and there’s a deep thud as the door swings open.
‘Thought you were going to use a bit of shoulder?’
‘That’s for idiots.’ Shepherd enters the door and turns on a light.
I follow him in. Steps leading down. ‘Oooh, shiny.’
‘Shut up.’ Shepherd’s already halfway down.
None of the fancy paint and wallpaper of the rest of the house down here, just bare stone walls and wooden steps. It opens out into a big vaulted place, probably where the minister used to keep his sex slaves or something.
‘Reminds me a bit of when we had this swedge down under the Old Town in Edinburgh. That was spooky. Almost died!’
But all Isobel Geddes has is boxes and boxes of stuff. Saves on storage, I guess.
‘You take that one.’ Before I can get a word in edgeways, Shepherd’s casing out the boxes down one aisle.
So I head down mine, like a good wee soldier.
There’s a strange grunting, and I don’t think it’s Shepherd trying to form a coherent thought.
Something rattles. Metal. Loud. Sounds like a cage, maybe?
Christ, is she tied up down here?
I speed up, but have to stop dead. There’s a cable running across the flagstones, a right trip hazard and no mistaking. I follow it to the wall, then the other way to a pile of storage boxes.
And the source of the moaning is under a big blue sheet.
I shake it off.
A man is tied up in a cage, naked as the day he was born. Looks like crocodile clips are attached to his old fella, connected to the mains.
His eyes open and he looks right at me. Whatever he’s trying to say, the black knickers stuffed into his mouth are blocking it.
11
Cullen followed McKeown and Elvis’s squad car through Stow, a long row of cottages on both sides of the main road at a couple of points. Surrounded by big hills, wooded to the left, bare to the right. A train trundled south, and he had no idea that they were still running, but then again even frontline workers needed public transport.
And he had no idea how to pronounce the village’s name. St-oh? St-ow? Maybe there was some weird third way he couldn’t fathom. Village names could be like that, especially down here in the Borders.
Elvis’s indicator flicked on and Cullen parked behind him. Seemed to be a few cars parked up, just a hundred metres or so from the national speed limit signs heading south, and the “Thanks for driving carefully!” message, like it was an invitation to drive like an idiot now. He checked his phone for messages and missed calls.
Evie was front and centre:
NEVER. AGAIN.
Then another one with a selfie of her on the sofa, with two sleeping boys either side.
Maybe again.
Cullen tapped back a reply. Looks like you’re having more fun than me. Sorry about this. He locked his phone, just as a notification flashed up and the screen went black. He tapped the screen and saw it.
Another episode of the Secret Rozzer.
And he got that tightness in his neck, like the tendons were about to snap.
Without thinking, he was out of the car and opening the other car’s driver door.
Elvis was tapping away on his phone.
Cullen grabbed his shoulder and pinned him into the seat.
Elvis jerked forward and smacked his knees off the wheel. ‘Aya!’
‘Get out.’ Cullen pulled him out onto the road, just as a car whizzed past, way too fast for a village road. He nodded at McKeown. ‘Go and see the lay of the land.’
‘Sir.’ McKeown buttoned up his coat as he sloped off.
Cullen held out his phone to Elvis. ‘Paul, is this you?’
‘Is what?’
Cullen shoved the phone into his face. ‘This podcast!’
‘Eh? Of course not.’ But Elvis couldn’t look at him. Kept looking everywhere but at Cullen, especially at the phone screen. ‘And that looks like a correction to the previous episode.’
Cullen checked it, and maybe Elvis was right. He couldn’t remember the number of the last one, but it might be the same. ‘Have you been listening to it?’
‘Aye, it’s cracking stuff. Gripping, as they say.’
‘Paul, if this is you and you keep denying it, so help me but I’ll—’
‘How can it be?! I’ve been with you all the time!’
‘No, you were at the CCTV office while I was with DS Murray in Pathhead. And besides, you could’ve scheduled it in advance.’
‘Seriously, Scott, it’s not me.’
‘Is it Bain?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You two were doing that beer podcast together. That trip to America?’
‘Aye, were.’ Elvis snorted. ‘Look, all that crap in America has kind of soured me on him, if I’m being honest.’
Maybe Cullen was barking up the wrong tree here. Thing with Elvis was, he was always that bit too cool for school, always hiding some big part of himself away. Never knew if you were speaking to Elvis, or to the true Paul Gordon.
Cullen pocketed his phone and zapped his car’s central locking. ‘Is this the—’
‘Why don’t you ask Bain? He’s right there.’
Cullen looked over and, sure enough, Bain and Buxton were halfway down a lane, laughing and patting each other on the back. McKeown was joining in but had the look of someone who didn’t get the joke but wanted to be friends anyway.
A strange grouping if Cullen had ever seen one. He set off up the winding lane towards them. ‘What are you doing here?’
Buxton looked round with a frown. ‘Scott, mate, you gotta see it for yourself.’ He thumbed towards a tall manse house.
Wedale House, the address they were heading for.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘What do you think?’ Bain coughed into his hand, but he was still laughing. His face and head were completely smooth these days, which made him seem even creepier than usual. ‘Looking for that missing MSP.’
‘She lives here?’
‘Aye, that’s what I said. She’s not in, mind.’
Cullen got that thudding in his neck again. Wouldn’t be the first time two cases found themselves merging. A missing woman in Edinburgh, and a found body in Midlothian. Didn’t take the world’s best detective to link them. Maybe it was the after-effects of this bug, but he was definitely not on his A-game.
He’d asked Shepherd to keep an eye open, but the sod hadn’t kept him informed.
‘What are you finding so funny?’
Bain was struggling to keep a straight face. ‘Go into the basement. Through the kitchen. You’ll see.’
Pair of idiots.
Cullen found the kitchen, though with a house that size, it wasn’t uncommon to have more than one.
He stormed across the courtyard. His phon
e rang, blaring out “Mr Brightside” by The Killers.
Deeley calling…
Cullen answered. ‘Hey, what’s up?’
One of those long whistling sighs. ‘Well, Young Skywalker, I managed to squeeze in a wee look at your victim. Don’t thank me, but strangulation is definitely your cause of death. And the victim definitely had old bruises. Some were two weeks’ old, judging by the fading.’
‘So she had previous?’
‘And then some.’ Cullen had a flash of Isobel Geddes in the morning’s paper, always wearing a scarf. Always.
She was their victim.
‘Cheers, Jimmy.’ He killed the call and listened hard.
Someone was rattling something, and very loudly and very far away.
Cullen walked into a larder, then through an open door to a set of stairs heading down. The place was dark and barely lit, and the rattling was getting louder and closer.
The place was rammed with storage boxes, two aisles passing between them. The rattling seemed to be coming from the second one.
There was a smell of excrement.
Shepherd was halfway down, on his knees. ‘Stay still!’
A loud scream tore out. ‘Get off me!’ A man’s voice.
‘I need to get you—’ Shepherd noticed Cullen walking over and stopped whatever he was doing. ‘Scott?’
‘Luke.’ Cullen got a better look at the scene.
A large animal cage sat there, partially covered with a blue sheet. Inside, a naked man was wriggling and writhing. His buttocks were smeared brown.
Cullen almost gagged. ‘Luke, what the hell is—’
‘Scott, help me!’ Shepherd was covered in shit himself, all over his suit and shirt and shoes. ‘I’m trying to free this idiot, but he’s fighting me.’
Cullen didn’t want to get too close. Whatever the hell was going on here, though, this man looked like the only lead in two cases. Two cases that were getting weirder by the second.
Shepherd reached in and grabbed the manacles around the man’s neck.
He got punched in the forearm for his troubles.
Rattling metal and footsteps came from behind him. ‘Out of the way!’
Shepherd stepped away and let two paramedics past. ‘He’ll need to be sedated.’
Cullen stood there, taking it in, trying to formulate a strategy. The man was tied up, looking dehydrated and hungry from the dryness around his mouth. He was big, though, at least six-five, and with heavy muscles.
Wait a second…
Through the smeared shit, Cullen could make out a tattoo of Tracy Chapman.
‘Rob?’
The monster in the cage stopped his wriggling and looked over at Cullen. ‘Scotty?’
Christ, it was him. Big Rob. Robert Woodhead, AKA Rob Szczepański. Cullen’s favourite knucklehead bodybuilder. He was massive ten years ago, but he’d almost doubled in size since.
‘What the hell are you doing here, Rob?’
‘I’m fine, Scotty.’ Rob stood up, hands palms out. ‘I’m fine.’ But a chain jerked him back and he slipped over in his cage.
‘I need to get out of here.’ Shepherd squelched off through the basement towards the stairs.
Cullen stayed there. ‘You really okay, Rob?’
‘Does it look it?’
A paramedic was reaching a gloved hand in to the cage. ‘You know where there’s a key, son?’
‘Not allowed to know.’
‘You what?’
‘She keeps it from me.’
Cullen got it, right there and then. His missing person and murder victim were now also linked to a sexual deviant in a basement. And someone he knew. ‘Was it Isobel?’
Big Rob looked over at him. ‘Aye.’
‘Right.’ Cullen stood up and let the paramedics get at him. ‘You get him hydrated and stabilised, I’ll try and find the key.’
The fresh air never tasted as sweet, but Cullen couldn’t clear the smell of shit.
Still, he didn’t have to look too far for his team.
Shepherd was the centre of a huddle by the main road, looking fed up and pissed off, huddled under a paramedic’s blanket.
Bain was leading the laughter. ‘Might need to change your togs, sarge.’
Shepherd narrowed his eyes at Bain. ‘Mind if I take your car?’
‘Aye, I do, as it happens.’
‘Well, you’re driving me.’ Shepherd clicked his fingers. ‘Now!’
Cullen got Bain’s attention. ‘Give us a second. And see if anyone’s found a key for that cage.’ He followed Shepherd over to his car. ‘Luke, sorry I haven’t had a chance to catch up. Been flat out on a murder case.’
‘Aye, aye. I get it, Scott.’ Shepherd laughed. ‘Christ, this is minging. I’ll have to burn it.’
‘You going to head home?’
‘Nah, it’ll take ages to get to Edinburgh and back. Besides, the rate I go through them, I get my suits from Tesco. Cheap as hell and easily replaced when you run through the knees twice a month. I’ll get that idiot Bain to buy me one from Gala. I can get a shower in the nick there.’ His nostrils twitched. ‘Not that it’ll get this stink out.’
‘You were doing a good thing, Luke.’
‘Wasn’t worth it. I got covered in shite, and it turns out you knew the guy.’
‘Strangest thing. Me and Craig met him ten years ago on a stupid case at a gym.’
‘Christ, I remember that.’ Shepherd smirked. ‘Seems like yesterday.’
Cullen sighed. ‘How you doing?’
‘Aside from being covered in shite? I’m okay, Scott. Okay. And okay is good when you work for Police Scotland.’
‘Isn’t it just?’ Cullen folded his arms. ‘Okay, so I’ve got to wrap my arms around both these cases. When Methven took them on, they were separate, but now… A missing MSP seems to be the body in the woods. Or at least, she was nearby while the victim was killed.’
‘Gore Glen, eh?’
‘You know it?’
Shepherd nodded. ‘Did a stint in Gorebridge about, ooh, fifteen years ago. That glen is bonkers. If it wasn’t underage kids drinking and fighting, it was overage kids drinking and shagging. Weird place, and then some.’
‘Takes all sorts, eh?’ Cullen moved to clap his shoulder, but pulled back. ‘Welcome back from the Complaints, though.’
Something dark passed over Shepherd’s eyes, like there were a million thoughts he wasn’t sharing. Or couldn’t share. ‘Did my three years and now I’m back to Gen Pop, as they say.’
‘Luke, you get yourself—’
‘Scott.’ Murray charged past them, giving the thumbs up. ‘Here it is.’
A burly fireman stood next to him, clutching a pair of bolt cutters. The guy had the look of one of those calendars. ‘You’re sure?’
Murray stopped. ‘No, now you mention it, we found a key in a bag that perfectly fits these manacles.’
The fireman raised his eyebrows. ‘You an expert?’
‘No, I’m joking.’ Murray frowned at him, like he was wondering who the hell he was. ‘Yes, I’m sure.’ He stood back and watched him snap away, then nudged Cullen. ‘Remember that young Eva Law I used to work with?’
‘She’s in my team.’ Cullen was aware of McKeown looking their way. No idea what he was doing here. Maybe he was supposed to give Cullen an update? He couldn’t remember. ‘What about her?’
‘She knows her way around a lot of esoteric sexual equipment, apparently.’
The one problem Cullen hadn’t been able to shift. Eva Law. Why she was still hanging around, he had no idea. ‘Okay, can you get them to … clean up Rob and take him over to Lauder police station for interview?’
‘Sure thing.’ Murray winked at him. ‘But don’t forget the alarm code.’
Shepherd tilted his head at them. ‘Eh?’
Murray smirked. ‘Few years ago, Cullen set off the alarm when we had to meet a witness in there. Place is closed to the public, so some poor bugger had to come up from Gala to sw
itch it off.’
Shepherd nodded. ‘Sounds like Scott Cullen to me.’
‘Catch you later.’ Murray set off at double speed.
Cullen gave him the nod. ‘I’ll let you get yourself sorted out, Luke. See you over there.’ He walked down to the street, wanting to check his phone for messages.
A blue Mondeo pulled up and Cullen didn’t even have to check who was inside to just know who it was. Pair of bastards.
Rich McAlpine was first out of the passenger side and clocked Cullen straight away. His hair had grown out quite a bit, and it didn’t suit him. Not much did. ‘Scott.’
Alan Lyall sat behind the wheel, taking his time getting out, maybe wanting to relish the frosty reunion between them. He was a whole other kettle of arsehole.
Why were two Argus journalists here so quickly?
‘Rich.’ Cullen put his phone away. He wanted to cross the road, but there was an unexpected convoy of tractors heading their way.
By the time it passed, Rich was on the phone to someone, but Alan was out of the car. ‘Vicky sends her love, Scott.’
‘Bet she sends you her hate, though.’ Cullen stuffed his hands in his pockets. So much history with these two idiots. And he needed to stop them getting anywhere near the story, which was bound to be impossible. ‘Out for a nice walk in the borders, are we? Get your daily exercise in?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Strange how you’re parking here, Alan. Of all places.’
‘Well, you know how it is, Scott. See an old lover’s friend, and you just have to say hi.’
‘Why are you really here?’
‘See, Scotty, Vicks wouldn’t be as daft as you. She would keep pricks like me and Rich at arm’s reach. Probably bust our balls.’ Alan laughed. ‘She certainly wouldn’t send two cops out to speak to us about spiking a story.’
Shepherd and Bain, no doubt. That would come back to bite Cullen on the arse. And soon. ‘Alan, as far as I was aware, the pressure to spike the story wasn’t from us. We were checking why you spiked it. And then why you decided to run it.’
‘And you didn’t think we’d come down here to see what’s what?’ Alan shook his head. ‘Must think we’re a pair of daft bastards.’
‘You’re getting nothing out of us.’
