Cowboys and Indians (DC Scott Cullen Crime Series Book 7)

by Ed James

  ‘They’re investigating Dean Vardy.’

  ‘Sodding hell.’

  Cullen sat opposite the desk. ‘I’ve left Eva there to go through their case files.’

  ‘Very sage.’ Methven slurped from a beige cup, gasping once he’d finished. ‘What do you propose we do next?’

  ‘I want to bring him in.’

  ‘That won’t happen.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m not risking an ongoing investigation without good reason. Especially one in which we’ve got previous.’

  ‘Is that a dig at me?’

  ‘We couldn’t get any of the charges against him to stick. Need I remind you that the domestic abuse fell apart when the witness withdrew her testimony? Or Vardy’s fake alibi recanted his statement and we didn’t have a paper trail to support it?’ Methven crumpled his cup. ‘The only good thing was he dropped the lawsuit against us. This is a complex issue and I shall consult with Professional Standards.’

  ‘We’ve got to speak to him. We need to find out where Van de Merwe got the drugs from.’

  ‘There’s nothing suggesting it’s related.’

  ‘Come on, sir. If he got behind on his drug payment, chucking him off the bridge would be well within their reach.’

  ‘I’m not authorising it without any evidence.’

  ‘Speaking to him is how we get evidence.’

  ‘This drug investigation isn’t a route to speaking to him.’

  ‘Sir, I—’

  ‘No buts, Sergeant. Now, is there anything else you need to apprise me of before I catch up with DCI Cargill?’

  ‘Get her to reconsider the DC decision. Buxton’ll be a real loss to our team.’

  ‘There’s nothing I can do.’

  ‘I don’t believe you, sir.’

  * * *

  ‘Who’s after a BLT with brown sauce?’ Barbara looked around the non-existent queue. ‘Ah, it’ll be you, Sergeant Cullen. I can’t get over how weird this roll is.’

  Cullen took it off her. ‘Ever had one?’

  ‘I haven’t.’

  ‘Don’t knock it, then.’ Cullen carried his roll over to the window seat and watched buses, cars and taxis wrestle for a few inches of Leith Walk tarmac, horns blaring. He bit into his roll and checked his mobile.

  A text from Buxton. You rang?

  He thumbed out a reply. In canteen.

  Another bite. The bacon tasted off but he still ate it. He looked around the place, a few of the back shift popping in.

  Buxton wandered through the canteen, stopped by Cullen’s table and folded his arms. ‘Got a lead on Candy.’

  ‘Sounds good.’ Cullen pointed at the seat next to him. ‘Care to join me?’

  Buxton ran a hand over his head and stayed standing. ‘Just back from Fanny Hill. She did time when she was eighteen. Just turned. Assault. Battered someone in a pub in Fife. Left him with two teeth missing and a cracked rib.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘She’s a big girl, remember?’

  ‘Not really. So you’ve found her?’

  ‘Wangled her parole officer’s number from the screw.’

  ‘Worth a punt, I suppose.’

  ‘I’ve just spoken to him on the phone. Says he remembers her, but anything else needs to be face to face. Do you want me to follow it up?’

  ‘Go for it.’ Cullen took the last bite of his roll and swallowed it down. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’

  ‘Good news, I hope.’

  ‘You didn’t get the DC gig.’

  A frown stretched Buxton’s forehead. ‘Are you winding me up?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake.’

  ‘I tried, Si. We can do it again next—’

  ‘Forget it.’ Buxton stomped across the canteen, shaking his head.

  Jesus Christ. Cullen balled up his roll wrapper.

  His phone rang. Unknown caller.

  Here we go again. ‘Cullen.’

  ‘Sergeant, it’s Martin Ferguson.’

  ‘Are you downstairs?’

  ‘I’m afraid I’m being detained here longer than I anticipated.’

  ‘At your solicitor’s?’

  ‘That’s right. It’s a more complex matter than I’d, er, believed.’

  ‘First thing tomorrow, then.’

  ‘Of course.’ Ferguson killed the call.

  Cullen rocked back on the chair. Texted Sharon. Going home. Knackered and can’t be arsed with the briefing.

  * * *

  CLATTER.

  Cullen blinked awake and looked around the living room. The white noise of a football crowd bled from the TV. Fluffy lay on the sofa back, purring. Burnt toast smell. Sore neck.

  He sat up and kneaded the tendon on the left of his neck. Really tight.

  Blinking at the screen, his vision cloudy. The top left showed AFG 2-1 TKN. Afghanistan beating Turkey? That can’t be right. The drunken Irish drawl of the co-commentator confirmed it — Turkmenistan. Looked like a decent match.

  CLATTER.

  He spun around, fists clenched. Someone at the door. His heart thudded. He took a couple of steps into the hall.

  CLATTER.

  Cullen searched round for the baseball bat. Not there. He swallowed hard and leaned against the wall, reaching out for the snib. Twisted it without a sound.

  CLATTER.

  Laughter.

  What the hell?

  He yanked the door open.

  Sharon knelt outside the door, fumbling for her keys. She looked up and laughed. ‘Can you—’ Burp. ‘Can you help me here?’

  ‘Jesus Christ.’ Cullen hauled her to her feet. Picked up her keyring. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Had a couple—’ Another burp. ‘Couple drinkies with Chantal.’

  ‘Were you drinking Meths?’

  She staggered into the flat and rested her forehead against the wall. ‘Nice wine.’

  ‘Come on, you need some water.’ Cullen slammed the door and helped her into the sitting room.

  Fluffy stretched out on his back in the white light the TV cast over the floorboards, one leg in the air. ‘Ma-wow!’

  Cullen pushed Sharon down onto the sofa. ‘Have a seat.’

  She sprawled out. ‘Mm. I love you, Scotty boy.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’ He got a glass from the draining board and filled it. A head rush clattered his skull. Too much too soon after waking. His pulse thudded in his ear. He downed the water himself, then refilled the glass and took it over. ‘Here you go.’

  ‘Mm, lovely boy.’ She spilled half of it on her blouse. She rested the glass on the edge of the coffee table. ‘Thanks.’

  Cullen perched on the arm of the sofa and nudged the glass over. ‘Changed days. You getting pissed after work instead of me.’ He picked up the glass. ‘Do you want another?’

  ‘Easier just to have a shower.’ She cackled and lay back. ‘Oh, this is nice and warm.’

  ‘I was asleep when you started throwing your keys around.’ Cullen walked over to the kitchen and refilled the glass. Just about getting dark outside. He pinched his nose and cleared the sleep crystals from his eyes. He returned to the sofa and handed her the glass. Then lifted her legs to sit underneath. ‘You should drink that.’

  ‘I’ll be peeing all night.’

  ‘You’ll be a mess in the morning.’

  ‘I’m a mess all the time.’

  Cullen clenched his teeth. ‘You’re not that bad.’

  ‘That’s what we talked about last night. You said—’

  ‘I’m saying you need to talk about how you feel, okay?’

  ‘Maybe.’ She sipped the water. ‘God, I shouldn’t have had those shots.’

  ‘Thought it was just wine?’

  ‘Wine and vodka.’

  ‘It always messes you up.’ Cullen took the glass and put in on the coffee table. ‘Why were you drinking?’

  ‘Chantal wanted to talk about why you’d dumped her on me.’

  ‘I
didn’t—’

  ‘She thinks you did.’

  ‘This is an opportunity for her.’

  ‘I was telling her that.’ Another burp. ‘God, Red Bull’s so gassy.’

  ‘Vodka Red Bulls?’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’ She shut her eyes. ‘We had another victim. Raped two weeks ago.’

  ‘Jesus. What happened?’

  ‘The guy was in hospital for a week. Another torn rectum.’

  Cullen felt his eyes water. ‘Aye, better not to talk about it.’

  She peeked through her eyelids at him. ‘Sorry for waking you up.’

  ‘It’s fine. I’m exhausted. Lost count of how many days in a row I’ve been on. Just thinking of the overtime.’

  She opened her eyes again. ‘Scott, don’t do this to yourself.’

  ‘It’ll be okay. Once we get a suspect charged, it’ll be paperwork central. Easy street.’

  ‘You should take time off.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’ Cullen massaged her left calf through her trousers. ‘Buxton didn’t get the job.’

  ‘Oh, Scott.’

  ‘I let him down. Cargill gave it to some constable who’d worked in Lamb’s team for the last six months.’

  ‘How did Budgie take it?’

  ‘Not very well. You know how much of a princess he can be.’

  ‘Pot, kettle.’

  ‘Yeah, fair enough.’ Cullen shifted to her right calf. ‘It’s the worst possible time for this to happen.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Well, he’s working for me. If I’ve let him down, his head’ll drop. Will have to send him back to uniform and get Chantal back.’

  ‘Scott…’

  ‘I’ll sort it out.’ He patted her legs. ‘You should get to bed.’

  ‘Are you suggesting something?’

  ‘Look, you really need to talk to me.’

  ‘Scott…’

  ‘I’m serious. You’ve not spoken about this for a whole year. A year. You know how much I hate you keeping things from me.’

  ‘Don’t.’

  ‘Come on, Sharon. Talk.’

  ‘Scott, you want kids. I can’t give you that. We’re done.’

  ‘I don’t bloody want them.’

  ‘But you’re good with them.’

  ‘So? I’ve got two nieces, you’ve got one of each. We get the good bits. No tantrums or baths or hospital visits in the middle of the night. No school reports. Taking them swimming. Them waking us at six on a Saturday morning. No teenagers. That’s good.’

  ‘You’re weird.’

  ‘Like you said, I’m a freak. You, me and Fluffy.’

  She collapsed onto the sofa next to him and snuggled in. ‘You are a freak.’

  He leaned down and kissed her on the lips. She responded for the first time in months.

  Friday

  23rd May 2014

  Thirty-Six

  ‘So, in summary, then,’ Cargill cast her gaze around the plainclothes and uniformed officers ramming the Incident Room, lingering on Cullen for a few seconds, ‘this case has been underway for almost a week, but we’re not seeing the sort of progress we demand in Police Scotland.’

  ‘I wholeheartedly agree.’ Methven drummed his fingers on the whiteboard, focusing on Cullen. ‘We need to revisit all witness statements and re-interview where necessary. Redouble our efforts.’

  Cullen glared back at him. How exactly do we do that? He sniffed and bit his tongue.

  ‘We don’t expect to close cases off in a day.’ Methven jabbed a finger into the diagram. ‘We do, however, expect to know what we’re dealing with. This is a high-profile case, a red ball if you will. The death of a high-earning figure in Edinburgh society generates press interest. We can’t let this go cold.’

  Cullen raised a hand. ‘We’ve got to accept it might be heading that way, sir.’

  ‘This will not end up as a cold case. Sergeant, can you please update us on your activities to bring the killer to justice?’

  Cullen got out his notebook, catching Bain sniggering into his WakeyWakey can. ‘The drug analysis is one of the few leads we need to progress.’

  ‘It’s a dead end. ‘

  ‘Sir, I’m not sure—’

  ‘Leave it.’ Methven glared at the whiteboard. ‘Move on.’

  Eva glanced over at Cullen, frowning. ‘A dead end?’

  ‘We’ll keep it that way until we hear otherwise, sir.’ Cullen tried to avoid looking at Eva. Failed. ‘DC Law, did you have something to add?’

  ‘Nothing, Sarge.’

  ‘Okay. In other news, we’re tracing the whereabouts of one Paul Vaccaro. We believe he’s a co-owner of UC Partners.’

  Cargill frowned at Methven. ‘This is because of the alleged corruption?’

  ‘UC were skimming money off resource on the programme. We believe Mr Van de Merwe was an equity partner. Vaccaro’s the only other name we’ve heard.’

  ‘How is this behaviour criminal?’

  ‘Because Van de Merwe was abusing the system. He forced invoices through when Alba Bank should’ve been vetting the hires and the expenditure of a third party.’

  ‘So he was double dipping?’

  ‘Whatever that means.’ Cullen glanced at his notebook again. ‘We’re getting assistance from the City of London Police to trace their involvement and hopefully identify the third partner.’

  Cargill raised an eyebrow. ‘Keep an eye on the budget there, Sergeant.’

  ‘Will do. They’re probing Mr Van de Merwe’s offshore bank records for us, as well.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘We believe he’s accepted bribes from IMC in exchange for business. Maybe millions.’

  ‘That’s fascinating, but I fail to see how it’s related to our case.’

  ‘If they terminated those contracts, someone at IMC might have a grudge.’

  ‘Keep progressing it, Sergeant.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. Next, we’re trying to trace the lap dancer Mr Van de Merwe took to a few functions.’

  Buxton coughed. ‘I’ve spent the last—’

  ‘Just a second.’ Methven wrote Candy on the whiteboard. ‘You think she could’ve killed him?’

  ‘That’s correct.’ Buxton folded his arms, glaring at Cullen. ‘Visited her screw in Fan—’ He blushed. ‘Cornton Vale last night. Said Candy was vicious in there. Notorious for running a gang. Got out after two years of a four-stretch.’

  ‘Even though she ran a gang?’

  Buxton remained focused on his notebook. ‘Didn’t do anything particularly naughty.’

  ‘And she’s a lap dancer even though she’s been in prison?’

  ‘The prison officer said it’s all they talk about in there. Easy money if you’ve got the looks. They don’t vet your CV like, say, Starbucks. They just look at your vital statistics.’

  Cargill grinned. ‘And what are yours, Constable?’

  Buxton’s eyes looked around the room. ‘Sorry, those were her words, not mine.’

  Methven cleared his throat. ‘Why do you think she could’ve killed Mr Van de Merwe?’

  ‘She has the means, sir.’

  ‘Does she have an alibi for the time of death?’

  ‘Sort of.’

  Cargill tilted her head. ‘Can you explain that?’

  ‘We, uh, we—’ Buxton cleared his throat. ‘We’ve not, uh—’

  ‘What he’s trying to say, ma’am, is we’ve not spoken to her since the initial interview.’ Cullen held her gaze. ‘She missed a meeting the following morning to detail her alibi and has since gone to ground, ma’am.’

  ‘Let me know the second she’s in custody. Okay?’

  Bain crushed his can. ‘Should never have let her go in the first place.’

  ‘I agree.’ Cargill pressed her lips tight. ‘But, we are where we are.’

  ‘Interviewing a lassie like that needs experience, ma’am.’ Bain tossed the can into the bin. ‘Happy to step in if this pair manage to track her down.’
/>
  ‘Agreed. DS Bain, please lead the interview.’

  Cullen clenched his fists. ‘Ma’am, this is Simon’s work.’

  Cargill jerked her head round to Bain. ‘Keep DS Cullen informed as to the progress of the interviews.’ She nodded at Methven. ‘Colin?’

  ‘I think that concludes today’s briefing. Dismissed.’

  Chaos exploded around Cullen. He reached a hand out to Buxton. ‘Si, wait—’

  Buxton glared as he marched off, putting his phone to his ear.

  Cullen leaned back against the pillar and snorted. ‘Jesus Christ.’

  Eva nudged his arm. ‘What was that about a dead end, Sarge?’

  ‘Politics.’

  ‘So I should stop looking into the drugs angle?’

  ‘Let’s just keep what you’re doing under the radar.’

  She grinned. ‘Cowboy.’

  ‘So people keep saying. Get anything from your friend?’

  ‘Drugs Squad have Vardy under surveillance.’ She smiled. ‘Six-man team in shifts round the clock.’

  ‘Sounds like Wilkinson, all right.’ Cullen stared back across the empty room. ‘See if you can get close to it, okay?’

  ‘Will do, Sarge.’

  Buxton reappeared, nodding at Eva as he pocketed his phone. ‘Just been on the blower to her parole officer, Sarge. Got another address for her.’

  * * *

  Cullen stretched out in the pool car and yawned up at the flat. Wind blew rubbish down the Bruntsfield side street. Heels clacked on both sides, women heading to buses and offices. ‘You ready to tell me what the PO told you?’

  ‘Candy gave her the address last night. Said it’s a stopgap after that place we raided the other day.’ Buxton let his seatbelt ride up. ‘Where’s backup?’

  ‘You sure you’re okay about what happened last night?’

  ‘Thinking I should just leave the force and get a proper job.’

  ‘You’re not serious, are you?’

  ‘Turned down for the job I’ve done for two years. Someone’s trying to tell me something.’

  ‘Come on, Si, the decision was out of my hands.’

  ‘You see how much these banking guys are making?’

  ‘Aye. Dealing with total arseholes all day.’