by Ed James
‘You’re a charmer.’ Cullen scanned around the dark space. ‘No lights in here?’
‘Nope. Think there’s a load of candle wax around the edges.’
‘You better hope it’s wax.’
Anderson smirked. ‘Oh. Watch it with my black light.’ He held up another device. A dull purple glow shone out of a stubby torch, splash patterns glimmering on the walls and floors, pink against the bruised glow. ‘That’s spunk.’
Cullen felt his stomach lurch. ‘So he’s had sex in here?’
‘And then some. Come with me.’ Anderson switched back to the torch and traipsed across the room. A stepladder leaned against the far wall. He shone up, white light flashing off an open hatch in the ceiling and started climbing the steps. ‘You won’t believe this.’
‘I still think I’m dreaming.’ Cullen let Jain go first. ‘Be glad he switched off the black light.’
Jain lifted her fingers off the ladder. ‘Jesus, Scott.’
‘I’m joking.’
‘He’s right.’ Anderson shone the light down from the roof. ‘That ladder’s like a plasterer’s radio.’
Jain clamped gloved hands onto the metal. ‘I’m just glad we’ve got these suits on.’
Cullen waited for her to clear the top of the ladder, then hauled himself up. Another dark room, cracks of light spilling in around gaps in the dormer’s tiles. ‘This better be worth braving that spunky ladder.’
Anderson flicked a switch and the room lit up. Four large shelving units lined the walls, crammed with BDSM equipment. Leather straps, whips, chains, ball gags.
Cullen held up a ring. ‘What the hell’s all this?’
Anderson swatted it from his grip. ‘That’s one of many cock rings.’
‘Oh, Jesus.’
‘You should’ve seen that Van de Merwe boy on the slab. Needed every extra millimetre he could get. Fucking tiny cock.’
Jain smirked at him. ‘You shouldn’t be looking.’
‘Couldn’t help it. I’ve got a photo if you—’
‘I’m cool.’ Jain got up from a crouch. ‘So this is a sex room?’
Anderson switched back to the torch. ‘Think it was a panic room. You know, for rich idiots to hide in when they get burgled. But he’s repurposed it for BDSM activities.’
‘You don’t go to all this trouble for a bit of missionary.’ Jain frowned. ‘I can never remember what it stands for.’
Anderson dropped a ball gag. ‘Bondage, Domination, Sadism and Masochism.’
‘Quite the expert.’
‘Piss off, Chantal.’ Anderson snorted. ‘Anyway, I did an inventory while I was waiting. Got straitjackets, dildos, butt plugs, corsets, hoods. Loads of ropes. An A-frame, which looks new. And enough leather gear to kit out a Hell’s Angels chapter.’
Shouts came from below. ‘Cullen!’
Cullen stared down the ladder. Lights flickered in the room. He rattled down the steps. ‘Wait!’
Methven peered through the panel from the bright bedroom, crouched in the closet. ‘Cullen?’
‘Stay there.’
‘I can’t hear you!’
Cullen blocked off the entrance and pulled down his mask. ‘I said, stay there.’
‘What the fuck’s going on, Sundance?’ Bain clasped a hand on Methven’s shoulder. ‘You having a sex party up there?’
‘Van de Merwe was.’ Cullen pushed through into the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, hauling off the mask. ‘There’s a sex room through there. Anderson got trapped when he found it. Chantal and I rescued him. Suit up if you’re going in. There’s an attic extension with lots of BDSM gear on the wall. Whips and chains and ball gags.’
Buxton appeared behind Bain and laughed. ‘That must be where yours went, Scott.’
Bain frowned. ‘Eh?’
‘Someone got him a ball gag for Secret Santa.’
Bain tilted his head back and bellowed. ‘That’s a fuckin’ classic!’
‘First time he’s shut up about his promotion in years.’
‘Gentlemen!’ Methven scowled at them. ‘A little decorum, please?’
‘Aye, sorry, Col.’ Bain sniffed. ‘So what do we think of this?’
Cullen unzipped the suit and let it drape across the bed. ‘He’s into BDSM. That’s about ten grand’s worth of equipment up there. Not to mention the cost of converting the room.’
‘Plot fuckin’ thickens, Col.’
Methven nodded at Cullen. ‘Find out if anyone knows anything about these proclivities.’
* * *
Elsbeth van de Merwe opened the front door and let out a deep sigh. ‘What now?’
Cullen folded his arms. ‘Just wondering if I could have a word.’
‘I’m busy. Can you come back later?’
‘We hopefully won’t be too long.’
‘I’m showing some buyers around.’
‘We can wait.’
‘Fine.’ Elsbeth led them into the house.
Cullen followed Jain into the kitchen. ‘Where are your buyers?’
‘Upstairs.’ Elsbeth took a sip from a teacup. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘There’s no easy way to say this.’ Jain plonked herself on a stool at the breakfast bar. ‘We found a sex room in your husband’s house. It contained a lot of BDSM equipment.’
Elsbeth clattered the teacup back on the saucer. ‘Have you spoken to Amber?’
‘She backed up your story. I could ask her about whether she and your husband were into BDSM.’
She gasped. ‘Listen. It’s not a crime.’
‘I’m not saying it is. Trouble is, it might be the reason for his death.’
‘And it might not.’
‘That’s true. I prefer to rule things out, though.’ Jain smiled. ‘Did you participate in it?’
‘No comment.’
‘Mrs Van de Merwe, you’re a suspect in a murder case. We need your cooperation. Here or down the station.’
Another sip of tea. ‘There was a … group we both used to go to. It was for consenting adults. We tied each other up. Experimented.’
‘This was back in London?’
‘Correct.’
‘Not here?’
‘For a while. Until we divorced.’
Footsteps thundered down the stairs. A man in jeans appeared, followed by a woman in a business suit. She smiled at Elsbeth. ‘Thanks for letting us look around. You’ve got a beautiful home.’
‘Is there anything else I can help with?’
‘No, that’s good. Bye.’ They hurried through the front door.
Elsbeth glared at Jain. ‘You’ve lost me that sale.’
‘This place is on at over a million. The police being in your house won’t affect the sale.’
‘I need you to leave.’
‘Did your ex-husband engage in these acts?’
She poured another cup of tea from a china pot. ‘That’s none of your business.’
‘I’m not sure that’s the case. He’s been murdered near his home and now we find a secret sex room there.’
‘How dare you?’
‘How dare I what?’
‘Prying into his life like this. Assuming everything’s sordid and seamy. Jon could be a loving man.’
‘But he did like to engage in BDSM?’
‘Fine, okay. Yes, he did. Happy?’
‘Was there anyone else involved in this?’
‘Not in Edinburgh, no.’
‘What about London?’
‘I suggest you ask William or Wayne.’ Elsbeth tipped her cup into the sink and dumped it on the drainer. ‘Now, do you need anything else?’
‘That’ll do, I suppose.’ Jain led the way out of the house.
Cullen smiled at Elsbeth and followed Jain out, pulling the door shut behind him. ‘Well?’
‘She’s never going to sell it.’
‘I meant about him.’
‘Dirty bastard. I think I should speak to Amber again.’
‘I might have another w
ord with Yardley.’
‘Going to drop me off?’
* * *
‘Thanks for seeing us again, sir.’ Cullen sipped bitter coffee through the lid and looked around William Yardley’s office. Bain was staring at the confusion on the whiteboard, the number of lines and boxes more than double since the morning. ‘Looks like you’ve been busy.’
Yardley shrugged. ‘No rest for the wicked.’
Cullen rested the cup on the edge of the desk. ‘We discovered a sex room in Mr Van de Merwe’s home.’
Yardley tugged his earlobe. ‘A sex room?’
‘Full of gimp masks and what have you.’ Bain swallowed some WakeyWakey. ‘You and he never talked about it?’
‘Never came up.’ Yardley wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. ‘We didn’t have that sort of relationship, I’m afraid.’
‘You hiding something?’
Yardley raised his hands. ‘I swear I’m not.’
‘What’s with the sweating?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Bain stood up. ‘Let’s take this down the station.’
‘Wait.’ Yardley gripped his desk. ‘I don’t know anything about this.’
‘Really?’ Bain took a step towards Yardley, leaning over him, and folded his arms. ‘Mr Van de Merwe never talked about his sex life?’
‘Like I said, it was just work. Always work. Never time for anything else. He made me miss my son’s birthday last year to review the offshore partner pitches. Jon liked me because I made things happen.’ Yardley pulled a paper tissue out of his drawer and mopped his forehead. ‘He’d come in here at half six every night and we’d talk about who’d let us down. We’d formulate plans for the next day. That’s it. I swear.’
‘So you didn’t socialise together?’
‘Just when it suited him. He delegated things like client entertainment to me.’ Yardley slicked back his hair, soaked through. ‘He’d get me to go to functions put on by Schneider or IMC or other suppliers. Some bank stuff.’
‘Never went for a pint?’
‘Jon was much more of a wine and whisky man.’
‘Elsbeth van de Merwe suggested you drank with him after work in London.’
‘That was always shop talk.’
‘No women on the scene?’
‘Not that I knew.’
‘Mr Yardley.’ Cullen leaned across the desk and rubbed his hands together. ‘There’s a team of forensic analysts round there just now. If your DNA’s in one of those rooms, we’ll find it.’
‘Jon kept his private life private, okay?’
‘Elsbeth suggested we speak to you.’
‘What Jon and Elsbeth did in their own time is no business of mine.’
‘You weren’t party to these activities?’
‘God damn it, no. I’m a happily married man.’
Cullen glanced at Bain draining his can. ‘We’ve still not heard from Wayne Broussard. Reckon he’ll know anything about it?’
‘Those guys go back to college. Wayne was a Rhodes scholar during his Masters at Princeton. Jon was an undergrad at Oxford. They met at some ball or something.’
Cullen stared at the ceiling. Sounded plausible. ‘Have you any idea when Mr Broussard’s due in?’
‘Check with Lorna.’
* * *
Cullen stopped around the corner from Yardley’s office and glanced at his phone.
A text from Tom. Aye, OK. Give me 10mins. Canteen downstairs.
He pocketed it and glared at Bain. ‘You weren’t much use back there.’
‘Got the prick to talk, didn’t I?’ Bain dropped his can into a bin set into a bench. ‘Sweaty bastard.’
‘Think he’s lying?’
‘That or he’s feeling the heat. Big man’s gone, he’s on the fuckin’ hook for this shite until they bring in someone competent.’
‘What was Crystal wanting to check with me earlier?’
‘Fuck knows, Sundance.’ Bain got out his mobile and checked the display. ‘Fuckin’ years till I get back home. Apinya’s going fuckin’ mental.’
‘Thought you’d separated from your mail-order bride?’
‘Shut your fuckin’ mouth.’
‘Sorry.’ Cullen raised his hands. ‘You’d split up, though, right?’
‘Well, we’re back together. Expecting a boy in August.’
‘You ever see your other son?’
Bain took a step forward, almost touching his forehead to Cullen’s. ‘I’ve not got a son, okay?’
Cullen stepped back. ‘If that’s how you deal with it.’
‘That’s the only fuckin’ way.’ Bain shook his head. ‘We need to find this Broussard prick.’
‘Agreed.’ Cullen started off down the corridor. ‘Got an idea of someone who might know.’
Around the bend, Lorna stuffed her iPad into a flower-patterned handbag. She looked up. ‘Do you still need that meeting room?’
‘I don’t think so. Can we have a word?’
‘I’ve really got to dash.’
‘It’s urgent.’
Lorna shrugged on her coat. ‘Make it quick.’
‘His speciality.’ Bain grinned and held out a hand. ‘DS Brian Bain.’
She shook it, a smile flickering across her lips. ‘What’s up?’
Cullen gave him a scowl. ‘Do you know when Mr Broussard’s due back?’
‘Not till next week. Can we do this tomorrow?’
‘Why tomorrow?’
‘I need to speak to the Schneider guys. They go back to their offices at the other end of George Street every night.’
‘Why’s everyone here so evasive?’
‘You get used to it.’
‘How close were you and Mr Van de Merwe?’
‘Distant, like I told you.’
‘We found a sex room in his house.’
‘Oh my God.’ She clamped a hand over her mouth. ‘Really?’
‘I take it he didn’t talk about it?’
‘No!’
Cullen smiled. ‘I’ll let you go, then.’
‘Thanks.’ She grabbed her keys and trotted along the corridor, heels clicking on the flagstones.
‘Well worked there, Sundance.’ Bain watched her go. ‘Doesn’t have a fuckin’ clue, does she?’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘Wouldn’t kick her out of bed for farting, mind.’
‘You reminded me of Keith Miller there.’
‘Fuck off, Sundance. She’s getting on a bit, though.’
‘She’s about my age. How old’s your missus?’
‘Twenty.’ Bain shook his head at him. ‘Right, what’s next?’
‘Do you want to update Crystal?’
‘What’re you going to do?’
‘Got a potential lead.’
‘You’re still a sneaky little fucker.’
Seventeen
‘They must be doing well.’ Cullen stared across the empty street, the Alba Bank pyramid towering above. He swapped his phone to the other hand. ‘There’s nobody here at six o’clock.’
Jain sighed down the line. ‘One of their execs has just died, Scott. Give them a break.’
‘How’s it going back there?’
‘Waiting on our Lord and Master to return.’
‘Isn’t Methven there?’
‘Not him, you. You wanted to catch up before you speak to Crystal.’
‘Shite. Can you speak to him and push it back to half past?’
‘Christ, Scott, you need a PA.’
‘Don’t I just. How’d it go with Amber?’
‘She wasn’t there. Neither was her alibi.’
‘Suspicious?’
‘Maybe. Got another delay on the drugs.’
‘Even after I spoke to that Owen guy?’
‘Maybe because. It’s Monday at the earliest now.’
‘I’ll speak to Anderson. Anything else going on?’
‘Got copies of the statements from the street teams for you.’
‘Anything i
n them?
‘Nobody saw a man in his pants.’
‘Well, it was half three in the morning.’ Cullen spotted a familiar figure trudging down the corridor. ‘Look, I’d better go. See you soon.’ He pocketed his phone and got up, hand out. ‘Evening, sir.’
‘Hey.’ Tom Jameson thudded down on the wooden seat, the material groaning. Didn’t shake his hand, just dropped his laptop bag to the floor. He let his suit button go and his belly unfolded. ‘You’re looking well, Skinky.’
‘Can’t say the same about you.’
‘Need to get back on that diet.’ Tom glanced down at his gut. ‘Why is it you only get in touch when you need something?’
‘It’s not like that.’
‘Of course it is. I’ve not spoken to you in months. Since you moved out of the flat, you’ve become the Scarlet Pimpernel.’
‘I’ve been busy.’
‘Being a sergeant.’ Tom shrugged off his coat. ‘What are all these texts about?’
‘Did you see the paper this morning?’
‘Rich’s big scoop? Barely speak to him, Skinky.’
‘But you share a flat.’
‘He’s a tenant, that’s it.’
‘You didn’t leak it to him?’
‘I didn’t find out about this guy’s death until I got briefed at our daily stand-up.’
‘I don’t even want to know what that is. So it’s not going well with Rich?’
‘We’ve got into a groove where he pays me his rent and we keep away from each other.’
‘It’s that bad?’
‘I’m just winding you up. We get on fine. He came for a drink at a team night out a couple of weeks ago.’
Cullen frowned, tilting his head. ‘Who was there?’
‘Like, fifty people.’
‘Did he speak to any of them?’
‘Tried it on with one of the guys in the mailroom.’ Tom smirked. ‘Why do you want to know?’
‘Because someone’s leaking stories. I just wondered if that’s where he found them.’
‘Well, I don’t think Post Jimmy’s got anything to leak.’
Cullen cracked his knuckles. ‘How’s he been?’
‘Busy. Stressing out about getting sacked. Working on a book as well as doing his day job.’
