by Ed James
Malc Brewster collapsed into the chair. Snorted, then rubbed his ruddy face. ‘Nightmare the day. Busy as hell, man.’
Donna tapped her watch. ‘You’re forty minutes late.’
‘Aye. Traffic’s murder.’
* * *
Brian Ogilvie sipped from his water, blinking hard as he stared at the ceiling. Shaved head, looked like he worked out. Deep scar under his left eye, running down to his jawline. ‘Okay. Under the PACE Act, the court has to exclude confessions obtained by coercion. The lawyer should only advise clients and carry out their instructions. Therefore, he should’ve objected to the leading questions asked in the interview. In your example, the confession should stand.’
Donna grinned at him. ‘Excellent answer, Constable.’
Ogilvie nodded, a blush creeping up his cheek. ‘Thank you.’
* * *
Cullen watched the door trundle shut before letting out a sigh. ‘Well, that’s us down to three candidates.’
Donna folded over her interview pack, scoring the paper with a painted nail. ‘Selecting the right candidate’s the hard part.’
‘It should be Buxton.’
‘I’ve noted your opinion.’
‘You done with me?’
She nodded. ‘For now.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘The agreement between me and DI Methven was for you to attend the interviews.’
‘What happens next?’
‘The interview panel meets to decide on the successful candidate.’
‘Thank God I’m not involved in that.’
* * *
Cullen handed over a tenner and picked up his coffee. ‘Thought you said this building was shutting down.’
‘That was a rumour, Scott my boy.’ Barbara blew air up her face as she handed him his change. ‘Never pay any attention to them.’
‘There’s a load of guys shifted up from Fettes, so it’s looking less likely.’
‘They’ll sell that place off for housing. Just mark my words.’
‘I’ll bear it in mind.’ Cullen left her to tackle the queue and wound his way over to a seat by the window. He shrugged off his jacket and checked his watch. How the hell did it get to half five?
‘There you are.’
Cullen twisted round as he sat. Buxton. ‘Been busy, Si.’
He flopped down opposite. ‘Not seen you all day, mate.’
‘Alba Bank fun and games.’ Cullen flicked off the lid and sipped the coffee. ‘Found Candy?’
‘Not yet.’
‘You’re kidding me.’
‘Wish I was, mate.’ Buxton sighed. ‘Got the results back from Anderson on that cloak, though. Turns out it’s Van de Merwe’s spunk.’
Cullen inhaled his coffee’s aroma. ‘Right, step this up. I want a BOLO out on her, okay?’
‘Will do.’
‘Methven’ll fuck me for letting her walk out of here.’
‘There’s nothing else we can do.’ Buxton folded his arms. ‘You been doing more interviews?’
Cullen let out a laugh. ‘Si, you know I can’t tell you.’
‘Come on, mate.’
‘Look, things are different now. I’m a DS. Crystal’s asked me to do this. If I leak anything, I’ll get a doing from the HR woman.’
‘You know she’s Cargill’s missus, right?’
‘As in—’
‘Yeah. Our boss. Civil partnership and everything.’
‘Christ.’ Cullen gulped coffee, scalding his tongue. ‘I’ve got to watch myself even more. Anything I’ve said to her’s already gone to the Ice Queen and she’ll have told Crystal.’
‘Mate. I’m desperate. I need this.’
‘Si, I’ve been there, remember?’
‘Soon as we get a result on this, I’ll be back in bloody uniform.’
Cullen’s mobile blared out.
He fished it out of his pocket. Anderson. ‘Si, I need to take this.’
‘Come on, mate.’
‘I’m serious. My balls are on the block if I tell you anything.’
‘Thanks for nothing.’ Buxton screeched to his feet and stormed across the canteen.
Cullen put the phone to his ear. ‘Go on.’
‘Been looking for you all afternoon. Wondering if you could give us a wee hand down here.’
‘What about?’
‘Bain’s been reprioritising me. Again. Told us to check the boy’s car. It’s clean as a whistle.’
‘For crying out loud.’
‘So, priority?’
‘Number one’s the drugs. Anything else, speak to me first before stopping it. Okay?’
Twenty-Eight
Cullen swallowed the crispy pancake in one go. Still a bit frozen in the middle. They pre-cooked them, though. Right? He took a mouthful of peas and a couple of chips, soaked in vinegar.
Fluffy crouched on the arm of the sofa, elbows like pompoms, eyes locked on the peas.
Cullen put one in front of him.
Fluffy ate it.
‘Weird cat.’ He gave him another one and flicked the TV channel until he got the roar of a football crowd and the nasal drone of the commentator. Hibs beating Hamilton two nil in the Scottish Championship play-off. Yawnsville.
The flat door rattled. ‘You in?’
‘Can’t you tell by the noise?’
‘And all the lights being on.’ Sharon dumped her coat in the hall and traipsed through to collapse on the sofa next to him. She reached across to pat Fluffy. ‘Is he ratting again?’
‘At peas. Your cat’s a freak.’
‘I must have a thing for freaks.’
‘Charming.’ Another pancake, less frozen.
‘Are you watching this?’
‘Not really.’ Cullen flicked it off. ‘When did you get in last night?’
‘Just after two, like I told you in my text. You were a grumpy shite. Grabbed all the duvet. You were speaking in your sleep again. The carrots were very definitely on fire.’
‘Again? When are they going to put them out?’ Cullen blushed as he munched on a chip. ‘There’s more in the oven. Might’ve defrosted by now.’
‘I’m not hungry.’
Cullen stared at her. Time to push it? He took another mouthful of peas. ‘How’s the case going?’
‘Mm.’ She grabbed a chip off his plate. ‘Thanks for Chantal.’
‘Don’t mention it.’
‘It’s good having someone I can rely on. Don’t suppose you could lend us another ten like her?’
‘I’ve only got three in total. Two and a half, more like.’
‘Spent six hours interviewing Kyle Graham’s wife again.’
‘Any more slapping?’
‘Not today. She’s still adamant he’s straight. Couldn’t explain why he was flirting with men in the club, though.’
‘Take it she’s given him an alibi for that guy you saw last night?’
Another chip. ‘They were having a romantic evening at home.’
‘Convenient. Reckon he’s in the clear?’
‘No idea. Wasted a load of time speaking to taxi firms.’ Another chip. ‘Got them logging all trips in more detail than usual.’
‘Probably a complete waste of time, but you never know.’
‘Don’t disagree. Spoke to the bar staff again. Still think someone’s at it there.’ Another chip. ‘Be glad you don’t drink anymore, Scott.’
‘Why?’
‘Someone’s raping young men who can’t control themselves.’
‘Your guy’s going for skinny young guys. I’m too fat and old.’
‘You’re not so bad.’ She patted his belly. ‘That’s a lot flatter than it used to be.’
Cullen finished the last chip and pushed the peas to the edge nearest Fluffy. ‘In the restaurant, you were saying something about going somewhere.’
She bit her lip and shut her eyes, tears welling behind the lids. ‘I need some food.’
Cullen grabbed her arm as she g
ot up. ‘You can tell me.’
She stared at his hand.
He let go and flicked up his hands. ‘Sorry. I’m just … sick of you avoiding talking.’
She slumped onto the coffee table. Facing him, tears running down her cheeks. ‘Scott, after I lost…’ She gasped. ‘After I lost Becky, I went to the doctor.’
He frowned. ‘I was with you, remember?’
‘You didn’t come in. I don’t know how—’ She gasped. ‘Scott, I can’t have kids.’
Cullen stared at his palms. Clenched his hands into fists. Tightened, pulled the nails against flesh. Looked up at bleary eyes. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Because I knew you’d be angry. Like this.’
He looked away, throat thick. ‘I’m not angry.’
‘Look at me.’
He stared at the kitchen area. The extractor whirring above the hob. The oven display flashing. Pile of plates in the sink. A carton of cranberry juice open on the counter.
‘Scott, look at me.’
He sucked in breath. Twisted his head round, focusing on her eyes, dark pools. He exhaled through his nose. ‘I’m not sure I want kids.’
‘You do want them. I’ve never seen you happier than when I told you.’
‘What about when you got me the 3DS?’
‘Scott, stop fucking about. This is serious.’
‘Sorry.’ He covered his eyes with his hands. ‘Look, you didn’t tell me—’
‘Scott, I—’
‘That’s been over a year.’
She swallowed and tugged hair behind her ear. ‘I know.’
‘Why did you keep it from me?’
‘Because I— I just don’t— When I came out of the doctor’s, I tried telling you. I couldn’t get the words out. Then it became this big thing. I couldn’t let it out.’
Cullen leaned forward, reaching out with his hand to stroke her arms. ‘I’m worried about you.’
She flinched away. ‘I feel so horrible.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I can’t have kids. I’m not much of a woman, am I?’
‘Jesus, Sharon, do you think my mind works like that?’
‘Doesn’t it?’
He let out a deep breath. ‘I love you. Okay? I’ve spent the best three years of my life with you.’
She stared at her hands.
‘Sharon.’
Eyes shut, tears streaking her cheeks.
‘Sharon.’
‘Are you leaving me?’
‘What?’
‘Are you leaving me?’
‘No. Why would I?’ Cullen thumbed at the cat over his shoulder, chewing on peas. ‘Unless you’re replacing me with him.’
‘I told you to be serious.’
‘I feel very threatened by him.’
She laughed, snot bubbling in her nose. ‘Scott. I can’t have kids. That’s serious.’
‘Sharon, it’s—’
‘You’re thirty-two. That’s a long life without kids.’
‘It’s a lot longer without you.’
‘That supposed to sound poetic or something?’
‘Sharon. Quit it with this, okay? I want you and only you.’
‘You need to think long and hard about it, okay?’ She got up. ‘Goodnight.’
Thursday
22nd May 2014
Twenty-Nine
Bain joined Methven at the whiteboard. ‘I said, me and DC McCrea have completed the evidence trail against Martin Ferguson.’
Cullen smirked. ‘You mean you stopped him committing suicide?’
‘Aye, well. Uniform had caused a clusterfu— Sorry, a massive mess by the time we got there. Once we’d calmed the boy down, he gave us permission to speak to his GP. Took a statement about his health. Mr Ferguson’s on some nuclear meds for depression. His words, not mine.’
‘So you think Ferguson’s on the level?’
‘I do. He’s adamant there’s corrupt shite going on at this place.’
‘Which we’ll come to in DS Cullen’s update.’ Methven jotted a note on the board. ‘Now, is there anything else to report?’
‘That’s it, Col.’
‘There must be more, surely?’
‘Had a hell of an afternoon with the Ferguson boy.’ Bain sniffed and cleared his throat. ‘That’s all I’ve got, sir.’
‘DS Cullen.’ Methven wheeled round, menace flickering in his eyes. ‘Can you give your update?’
Cullen looked around at his team. Buxton and Eva perched on a desk. No sign of Murray. ‘First up, the SOCOs will finally process the drugs we found in Mr Van de Merwe’s flat today.’
Methven tapped the pen off the board, jotting it down. ‘That’s good news, for once.’
‘Anderson’s aiming for first thing tomorrow.’ Cullen checked his notebook. ‘Next, we’ve closed both the phones and social media. No leads.’
‘Sodding hell.’
‘Eva, anything on the emails?’
‘Got the work ones back from Charlie. There’s one from someone who worked in Group Internal Audit. Think that’s like our Complaints.’ She tugged her hair behind her ears. ‘From what I can gather, they met to go over corruption allegations. I’ll do more digging today.’
‘Thanks.’ Cullen nodded at Methven. ‘Sir, that’s it.’
‘Got a couple of things, guv.’ Buxton flicked through his notebook. ‘I’m still looking into this lap dancer Van de Merwe was at it with.’
Methven glowered at Cullen. ‘There’s still no sign of her?’
‘We found a cloak at her flat, but she’s gone to ground.’
‘Get her in here.’
Cullen glanced at Buxton. ‘I’ll sort this out, sir.’
‘Dismissed.’
Cullen went over to his desk and slumped in the seat.
‘Sarge?’
He looked round.
‘Found something.’ Murray stopped by his desk, out of breath. ‘Got in early this morning to get stuck into the bank accounts. Remember the payment Chantal found in Van de Merwe’s personal account?’
‘The one that was refunded?’
‘Came from an Indian company.’ Murray grinned. ‘An IMC subsidiary.’
* * *
Cullen stopped outside Vivek Sadozai’s office and held out his hand for Murray to hang fire on knocking. Shouting boomed through the door. He couldn’t make out the figures behind the frosted glass window.
‘Viv, we need to make sure these guys are playing the same game as us!’
‘But we’re not playing their game, Chris! That’s the problem!’
‘That’s Vivek.’ Cullen put his ear to the door. ‘Who the hell’s Chris?’
‘—get them playing our game. We’re open to Broussard swooping in and stopping progress as he usually does.’
‘We’ll be the ones stopping progress if we pull our resource.’
‘I don’t want to, but we’re running out of options, Viv. Unpaid invoices are not going unnoticed.’
Cullen rapped on the door and pushed it open.
Vivek leaned back in his chair, boots on the desk, glasses on the top of his head. He shifted his feet off and stood. ‘Sergeant Cullen.’
A squat man lurked in the window area, morning light silhouetting him. He looked like he’d been in one too many scrums — cauliflower ears ready to pop. Beefy arms and belly stretched his black shirt, the buttons straining. ‘Christian Xavier.’ Expensive accent — public school, Oxbridge, military service. Officer grade. ‘How can we help?’
Cullen gave a smile, eyes narrow. ‘You could start with telling me who you are.’
‘Vivek works for me.’ Xavier thrust out a hand, his round face twisting into a grin. ‘I’m in charge of IMC’s UK-based onshore staff.’
‘Nice to meet you.’ Cullen shook his hand and perched on the edge of a cabinet. He nodded at Murray to shut the door. ‘We just need a word with Mr Sadozai.’
Vivek slumped into his chair and tugged on his glasses, frowning at Xavier
. ‘How can I help?’
‘I need to remain present, I’m afraid.’ Xavier raised a hand. ‘We’ll need to involve our lawyers if this relates to our commercial activities.’
‘Suits me.’ Cullen tossed a sheet of paper onto the desk. ‘Have a look at this.’
Vivek gave it a glance. ‘Looks like a bank statement.’
‘The account belongs to Mr Van de Merwe.’
‘Viv, I think we should get Legal in here.’
Vivek slid the page back across the desk. ‘I don’t know what this relates to.’
‘That true?’ Cullen pointed at the transaction highlighted in yellow. ‘That payment came from an IMC subsidiary.’
Xavier left the window, getting between Cullen and Vivek. ‘We definitely need to take legal advice.’
‘If that’s how you want to play it.’ Cullen took a step towards the door and swung around. ‘This doesn’t reflect well on your company.’
Xavier snatched up the page. ‘Are you accusing us of something?’
Cullen held up his hands. ‘I’m gathering information here for a murder case. If you can’t explain that transaction…’
‘Look.’ Xavier jabbed a finger at the sheet. ‘We reversed the transaction. See?’
‘So it’s just an error?’
‘That’s all I can suggest.’
‘I’m intrigued by Mr Van de Merwe receiving a hefty payment from one of his new suppliers.’
‘I swear I know nothing about it.’
‘That your final answer?’
‘Of course it is, Sergeant.’
Cullen nudged Murray aside and opened the door. Whispered into his ear. ‘Play along here.’ He spun round. ‘Now I think about it, do you mind if we do this down the station?’
‘That’s fine.’ Vivek got up and buttoned his suit jacket. ‘Lead on.’
Xavier put a hand to his chest. ‘I need to insist on legal representation.’
‘Your corporate lawyers won’t know anything about criminal defence.’
‘Criminal defence?’ Xavier shifted his focus to Vivek. Then the floor. ‘Okay, fine.’
‘Fine, what? We can interview Mr Sadozai?’
