by Ed James
‘And did he?’
‘Wayne took his concerns to Sir Ronald in December. They were gone within a week.’
There was a knock on the door. Lorna frowned at Cullen. ‘That’s William back in his office now.’
* * *
William Yardley pounded a fist off his desk. Then tore his other hand through his ginger hair. ‘Listen to me. I’ve never heard about any of this.’ Full-on Southern drawl.
His office door juddered open. Lorna hurried across the carpet, clutching a coffee, nodding at Cullen as she put the beaker in front of Yardley. ‘Here you go.’
‘Thanks.’ He sucked at the cup. ‘Guys, I need to attend a meeting.’
‘You’ve just been to one.’
‘Do you want to see my diary? I’m full up for the rest of the week.’
‘No, you’re not.’ Bain blocked the door. ‘You’re answering our questions here or down the station. Your choice.’
‘I don’t have to—’
‘No, you do. Do you want me to detain you? Not done it for a while, but I can still remember how to read you your rights.’
Yardley slumped into his seat. ‘Ask the question again.’
‘Was Mr Van de Merwe a partner in UC?’
‘Look, I know nothing about that.’
‘We’ve heard he was.’
‘This is a man’s life you’re stomping over. His reputation. His legacy. You can’t just do that.’
‘He’s a murder victim. We need to find out who killed him.’
Yardley slammed his cup down, sending coffee spraying through the hole in the lid. ‘Did these rumours come from Martin Ferguson?’
‘We can neither confirm nor deny.’
‘So it was him.’ Yardley shook his head at Lorna. ‘What are you still doing here?’
‘Facilities are hassling me about their meeting room.’ She bit her lip. ‘Nobody’s been in there all day.’
Cullen smiled at her. ‘Thought I told you to release it?’
‘Oh, okay.’ Lorna left the office.
Bain watched her go, narrowed eyes locked on Yardley. ‘So you’re saying there’s nothing in these rumours?’
‘To the best of my knowledge.’
‘But you were here when UC were onsite, right?’
‘I never met the owners, though.’
‘Excuse me?’ Cullen glanced at his notebook. ‘You’ve been on the programme for two years and, in all that time, never met one of the UC partners?’
‘God damn it, will you listen to me? I don’t know anything about them.’
‘Did they wear masks in meetings?’
Yardley yanked the lid off his coffee and flopped it down on the desk. ‘My understanding is the firm’s partners were silent.’
‘So if the owners weren’t here, who managed their resource?’
‘They had a guy onsite. He was managing the entire programme. Big Scotch guy. Used to come to all of the meetings. I think his title was Delivery Manager or something.’
‘Was he a partner in the firm?’
‘Not that I know. I mean, he could’ve been.’
‘What was his name?’
‘Stephen Nicks. I don’t have his number.’
Cullen got up and paced the room. ‘And all this time, they were creaming off a few hundred thousand a day.’
‘Where did you get that?’
‘Simple maths. Two hundred employees at fifteen hundred a day.’
‘I’ll take your word for it. I don’t look after supplier management or finances. UC were fired because they weren’t performing. We needed to restructure the finances of the programme as we shifted into delivery. They weren’t the best fit.’
‘So you moved to Schneider and IMC?’
‘We swapped one firm out for two. Lowered the consultancy spend and moved our cost base overseas.’
‘Was Mr Van de Merwe a partner in UC?’
‘What? God no. Did Ferguson—’
‘Are you?’
‘God damn it! No, of course I’m not.’ Yardley gulped coffee. ‘This is ridiculous.’
‘You should know we’re looking into the ownership of the business. Two names unaccounted for. If we find out—’
‘Get out of here!’
Cullen got to his feet. ‘If we find out you’re involved, this won’t look good.’
‘Get out.’
Thirty-Two
Cullen looked around the Incident Room. He spotted Eva at a desk near the door. ‘Can you do me a favour?’
She turned to a fresh page in her notebook. ‘Go on.’
Cullen crouched down, his knees creaking with effort. ‘Can you look for a Stephen Nicks? He used to work for UC Partners.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Cheers. Have you seen Murray or Buxton?’
‘They asked Holdsworth to arrange a meeting room for them. Think it’s about this City of London stuff.’
‘Weren’t you looking into that?’
‘Stuart took it off me. They’re in room Six.’
Cullen got up, his knees creaking, again.
‘Sarge, wait a sec.’
He spun round. ‘What’s up?’
‘Been going through these emails like you asked? I found one sacking UC Partners.’ She handed him a sheet, stabbing a finger at a highlighted section. ‘Martin Ferguson sent it to a generic email at their domain. And a Paul Vaccaro.’
‘This is good work. Any idea who he is?’
‘I’ll add him to the hunt, Sarge.’
‘Cheers. Getting anywhere with Van de Merwe’s Gmail account?’
‘Charlie’s on it. Reckons hell’s gonna freeze over before we get it.’
‘Keep on him. And dig into any emails he received from Vivek Sadozai. And Wayne Broussard.’
‘Aye. Still nowhere with finding him.’
‘Cheers, Eva.’ Cullen left the room and jogged down the corridor. He knocked and entered room Six.
Buxton and Murray were leaning against the window frame. Their eyes shot over to him.
‘You pair better not be talent spotting.’
‘Hardly, Sarge.’ Murray laughed. ‘Got a hold of our contact in the City of London Financial Crime Unit. Wanted to speak to a sergeant or above.’
‘Wouldn’t Methven have done?’
‘Not seen him.’
Cullen sat at the end of the meeting table. ‘Dial it, then.’
Murray held up his mobile and dialled a number into the conference phone on the desk. The dialling tone burst out of the speaker. Then room noise.
‘DI Coulson.’
‘Steve, it’s DC Stuart Murray in Edinburgh.’
‘Afternoon, Constable. How’s it up there in chilly Jockland?’
‘Thanks for agreeing to speak to us, sir. I’m with DS Scott Cullen and ADC Simon Buxton.’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘We were talking about UC Partners earlier.’
‘Ah, them. Listen, the ownership’s in the Caymans.’
‘Is that a problem?’
‘It’s a dead end. You’re snookered, unless I can get access through my back channels.’
‘What about Jonathan van de Merwe’s accounts?’
‘Got a few in the Caymans bearing his name.’
‘How come you can get that but not for UC?’
‘Don’t ask to see how we make the sausage, Constable. I’ve got access to some of the transactions. Your guy’s received a lot of cash from a company called Indus Consulting.’
Murray nodded at Cullen. ‘That’s the IMC subsidiary.’
Cullen stared at the phone. ‘How much are we talking?’
‘Looks like an initial hundred grand, then ten a month since December.’
‘What’s the balance on the account?’
Coulson whistled down the line. ‘A cool ten million plus change that’s bigger than my pension.’
‘Can you send through a copy?’
‘Will do. That all you need from me
?’
‘For now. Thanks for your help, sir.’
‘Don’t mention it.’ The line bleeped dead.
Cullen sprang to his feet. ‘Time to update Crystal, I suppose.’
Murray winked. ‘Or take credit for our work.’
‘I’m not taking any credit for you doing bugger all, Stuart.’
‘I love you too, Sarge.’
* * *
Methven checked his watch. Third time in half an hour. ‘You’ve been very informative, Sergeant.’
Cullen leaned back in the chair. ‘I’ll keep you posted as we go, sir.’
Methven shook his head. ‘Look, what I still don’t see is why someone’s murdered him.’
‘I’m thinking it could relate to what he was up to with UC Partners. Some rough maths and you can work out how much he’s made. Where there’s money, there’s usually a motive.’
‘If it’s true.’
‘I’m assuming it is. He bullied procurement, rushed through staff hiring and kept his team from speaking to UC.’
‘We need evidence.’
‘We’ll get it, sir.’
‘The City cops are notoriously slow.’
‘Notoriously rigorous, too. It’ll stand up in court.’
‘Who are you putting in the dock, Sergeant?’
‘That’s another question entirely.’
‘Why’s he on the bridge in the first place?’
Cullen shrugged. ‘Someone pays a prostitute to visit his bondage room and service him. Then she lures him out into the street.’
‘If it’s a hit, surely they’d do it in his house. That safe room—’ Methven smirked. ‘DS Bain called it a danger room. Like in the X-Men comics.’
‘Very good.’
‘But you follow my logic? If you were killing him, you’d strangle him and leave him in the house.’
‘I’d shove Bain off the Forth Road Bridge.’
‘I meant sodding Van de Merwe.’
‘I know, sir.’ Cullen cleared his throat, covering a smile. ‘But I agree. If it was a hit, we’d’ve found him in his suit with some shopping scattered around. Not at three a.m. in his underpants.’
‘Which only adds to the mystery.’ Methven checked his watch again.
‘Am I keeping you from something?’
‘Sorry? No, no. I’ve got an appointment at two and I need to get some lunch beforehand.’
‘Do you think we’re wasting our time looking into his background, sir?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine. We could be dealing with an assassin who’s leading us to think it’s not a hit. We desperately need to find this person in the cloak. How are we with Candy?’
‘I need to pick up with ADC Buxton.’
‘Sergeant, that’s been two days now.’
‘I know, sir, but we’re—’
Methven’s Airwave thundered against the wooden desk. ‘DS Bain to DI Methven.’
‘Receiving.’
‘Need you down in the Scenes of Crime office, Col.’
‘Is it going to take long?’
‘I’d say so.’
Methven sighed. ‘I’ll be down presently.’
Cullen got up and stepped towards the door. ‘We done?’
‘I need you to cover my two o’clock, Sergeant.’
‘What is it?’
‘Presenting Buxton’s case at the panel.’
Cullen let his shoulders drop. ‘Right.’
Thirty-Three
Cullen slumped back in the seat, gazed up at the canteen’s ceiling and gripped his phone tighter. ‘Crystal’s put me in the shit again, Sharon.’
‘He shouldn’t be doing this to you. You need to sort it out.’
‘You think I should go to the Police Federation?’
‘I meant speak to him.’
‘Oh. Right.’ Cullen shifted his mobile to the other hand and glanced at the half-filled page of A4. ‘I’ve done nothing because I thought he was presenting Si’s case.’
‘You think he’s ready for it, though, right?’
‘Been ready for eighteen months.’
‘Then you’ll be fine.’ Pause. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘I’m tired. Have you thought any more about what we talked about last night?’
‘Scott.… This is hard for me. I’ve got to go.’
‘When will you be back tonight?’
‘Chantal wants to go for a drink.’
‘Right. Love you.’ Cullen ended the call.
‘Sarge.’
Cullen looked up. Buxton was looking down at him.
‘Tried calling you.’
‘I was on the phone to Sharon.’ Cullen leaned back in the chair. ‘Tell me you’ve found Candy.’
‘Think she’s disappeared.’
‘People don’t just disappear. Have you spoken to her parents?’
‘Both dead.’
‘Si, Methven’s biting my bollocks about it. Find her.’
‘Keep your wig on, mate. I’ll bring her in.’ Buxton got up. ‘I liked you better when you were drinking.’
Cullen watched him wander across the canteen. Was he really detective calibre? Or was he just his mate?
A hand appeared from the side, snatching up the page.
Cullen grabbed for the hand. Missed.
‘Oh, ho! Look at this.’ Bain held it at arm’s reach to read it. ‘Aw, bless! “Simon is my boyfriend and I wuv him vewy, vewy much.” You soft shite, Sundance.’
‘Give me that back. Now.’
‘Make me.’
‘How old are you? Six?’
‘Come on, Sundance. Just a little bit of fun.’
‘Look, I’ve got to take that to a panel in five minutes.’ Cullen snatched it back, folded it and put it in his pocket.
‘So Crystal’s dumped that on you now?’
Cullen looked away.
Bain thumped into the seat opposite. ‘You regret getting the stripe?’
‘All these little shitty things he gives me. I’m supposed to be running this investigation, but I’ve spent more time interviewing candidates or prepping for the interviews than on the case.’
‘Nightmare.’ Bain dumped a handful of coins onto the table and started sifting through. ‘I tried to put you through the same thing.’
‘What, delegating?’
‘No, a promotion, you daft bastard. You were such a moaning git. Promotion this, promotion that.’
Christ. Cullen swallowed.
‘This was after I lost Butch to Wilko.’
‘Don’t call her that.’
‘Cargill knocked it back. Said you were too much of a cowboy.’
‘What did you say?’
‘Saw the writing on the wall and let it pass.’
‘I didn’t realise.’
‘It’s not just saving your fuckin’ life you’ve got to thank me for, is it?’
* * *
Cullen opened the meeting room door.
DCI Cargill and Donna Nichols were lost in conversation. Sitting close, legs almost touching. Were they really a couple?
Cargill glanced round and flashed a yellow toothy smile at Cullen. ‘Ah, Sergeant. Thanks for joining us. DI Methven said you were his deputy on this.’
Cullen sat on the other side of Donna. ‘Where’s everyone else?’
‘They’ll come as and when they’re needed. You’re to provide assurance through the process.’
‘Have a look through this.’ Donna tossed a pack at him. Their interviews all typed up and bound. ‘The format’s twenty minutes for each candidate.’
‘But we’ve already interviewed them.’
‘And we need to hear from their sponsors.’
Cargill winked at him. ‘This is what Colin and I had to do for your current position. Be thankful you avoided the interview and presentation.’
Cullen flicked through the pack. ‘So, who’s up first?’
* * *
‘Let me think on that.’ DI Bill Lamb stared at the window, s
troking his moustache. He cleared his throat. ‘Okay. PC Helen Armitage has worked for one of my sergeants for the last six months. In that time—’
Cargill frowned. ‘But she’s since returned to uniform duty?’
‘That’s correct. You know how the budgets are this year, ma’am.’
‘Do you think she’d be a good fit for DS Cullen’s team?’
Lamb raised his eyebrows at Cullen. ‘Possibly not. He’s already got a few inexperienced officers. DC Murray’s the only one with any experience and most of that’s out in East Lothian.’
‘I’ve got DC Jain.’ Cullen glared at him. ‘And Eva Law’s got two years as a full DC in A Division.’
‘All the same, I think Helen’d be better with one of my sergeants.’
‘I’ve got an idea.’ Cargill beamed. ‘We could move Geraldine Fox into DS Cullen’s team. She adds a wealth of experience.’
Cullen dug his pen into his interview pack, cutting through the pages. ‘That’s an option.’
‘DI Lamb, can you continue?’
‘Anyway, Helen frequently deputised for DS McMann at my daily briefings. As you know, he’s had issues with his water works all year. She’s really stepped up to the plate.’
* * *
Cullen locked eyes with Cargill. ‘So, in conclusion, then, PC Simon Buxton should get the role. Full stop. In the two years he’s worked both alongside and for me he’s not once complained about the nature of the job or the type of activities he’s undertaken. That’s two years of handling murder cases and complex investigations. He’s a good analyst and an experienced police officer. It has to be him.’
* * *
Sergeant Gary Mullen rubbed a hand against his chin. ‘So, aye, I’m PC Brian Ogilvie’s line manager.’
Cullen flicked through his original pack, finding the name just to the left of where his pen had tunnelled through. He was decent enough, but hardly a go-getter.
‘He’s worked for me here for about ten years, give or take. Good lad, always eager to put in a shift or do the odd bit of overtime. Gets on—’
