by Ed James
‘I’m not dealing! Fuck’s sake.’ Vardy folded his arms, bulky at the biceps but thin at the wrist. ‘What do you fucking want to know?’
‘Are you dealing this stuff?’
‘I’ve said I’m not. Are you deaf?’
‘Sergeant, please can you get to the point?’
Cullen leaned on the edge of the table with both hands. ‘I deal with murders and other serious crimes. I’m not part of the drug squad.’
Vardy raised an eyebrow. ‘You saying they’re investigating me?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘So why are you raising it?’
Cullen swallowed. ‘We need to—’
‘Why the fuck have you got me in here?’
Cullen reached over to Buxton’s papers and snatched up a photo, tossing it on the table in front of Vardy. ‘Ever seen this man before?’
‘Am I supposed to?’
‘His name’s Jonathan van de Merwe. He took a tumble off a bridge early on Sunday morning.’
‘I’m very sorry to hear it.’
‘Know anything about it?’
‘Should I?’
‘We found a bowl of cocaine in his house on Belford Road.’ Cullen left a long pause, watching Vardy for any reaction. Nothing. ‘Our forensic chemical analysis shows it matches a batch you’re selling.’
Vardy laughed. ‘I’m a legitimate businessman.’
‘Ah yes. You own a pub, a bookies and a taxi firm. And you’re only twenty-eight years old. I wonder where you got the cash to start that little empire.’
‘Twenty-nine, mate. Birthday last month.’
‘Many happy returns. Bet you’re glad you weren’t inside for big Shug to give you a special present.’
‘What the fuck are you saying?’
‘You managed to wriggle out of some serious crimes last time we spoke in January. Impressive work.’
‘My client’s innocence has been proven, Sergeant.’
‘Not by a court of law.’ Cullen switched his gaze to the lawyer, locking eyes. ‘Cases collapsing due to witnesses pulling out isn’t the same thing as being proven innocent.’
‘You didn’t even have enough to take it before a judge.’
Vardy prodded his septum. ‘What’s your game here?’
‘Talk to us about Mr Van de Merwe and we’ll see what we can do about the coke charges.’
‘I don’t know nothing about no coke, pal.’
‘So many negatives… What about the stuff you were snorting?’
‘You planted that.’
‘Mr Vardy, did you kill Mr Van de Merwe because he owed you money?’
‘What?’
‘He’s got a bowl of your coke. Lot of cash in that. Maybe five hundred grams? How much is that on the street?’
Vardy folded his hulking arms. ‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘It’s high five figures, at least. Price per gram’s pretty low just now, isn’t it?’
‘What do you want from me?’
‘Did he owe you any money?’
‘I. Don’t. Deal. Drugs.’
Cullen held his stare. Vardy wasn’t looking away any time soon. ‘Okay, tell us about Christine Broadhurst.’
‘Candy?’ Vardy shrugged. ‘She works for me in Wonderland.’
Cullen frowned, tilting his head to the side. ‘You own it?’
‘Bought it off the model shop boy. Got approval to turn it into a lappy.’
‘I still don’t get where all the money’s coming from.’
‘It’s all legit.’
‘You been sleeping with her?’
‘Maybe.’
‘You’re happy with her taking her clothes off for other men?’
Vardy gave a shrug. ‘Beats what you do for a living.’
‘Is she still working as an escort?’
‘What?’
‘We understand she used to accompany lonely men to functions or dinner. Maybe give them something extra.’
Vardy ran a hand across his nose. ‘I’m trying to take her away from all that.’
‘Does she still do extras, now she’s your partner?’
‘She’s stopped that.’
‘Did any of this work go through you?’
‘Fuck you.’
‘Are you going to beat her up as well?’
Vardy stabbed a finger at Cullen. ‘Those charges got dropped.’
‘My client will not answer any questions pertaining to other investigations.’
‘I bet he won’t.’ Cullen reached over to Buxton’s pile of papers and pulled out a document. He snapped the paper tight. ‘Candy’s admitted to working as an escort. Said she serviced Mr Van de Merwe on a few occasions. We’ve also got him paying for dances at Wonderland.’
‘So?’
‘I want to know where you were when he died.’
‘Which is when?’
‘Sunday morning, three thirty a.m.’
‘That’s easy.’ Vardy gave a chuckle. ‘I was on George Street. Just been in Tigerlily’s.’
‘Sure about that?’
‘Of course I am.’
Cullen took his time treading the squeaking floorboards to his seat. He collapsed into it, arms folded. ‘You weren’t at home?’
‘Nope.’
‘So you weren’t with Christine?’
Vardy gripped the edge of the table, his eyes narrow slits. ‘What?’
‘She says you were at home with her.’
‘Fuck.’ Vardy shut his eyes and clenched his jaw, hands covering his face. ‘Right.’
‘So, what was it? Cuddling up to Candy, where you’ve got no evidence, or outside Tigerlily, where we’ll get you on CCTV?’
Vardy looked away. ‘Tigerlily.’
‘We’ve got two separate witness statements of a woman in a cloak with the deceased. In about an hour, Ms Broadhurst will go in front of two line-ups.’
‘Eh?’
‘Did she push Mr Van de Merwe off the bridge?’
‘I don’t fucking know.’
‘If you help us with Candy, we’ll see what we can do about the drug charges.’
Vardy leaned over to whisper into McLintock’s ear and listened to the response before nodding. ‘Right. Candy’s pregnant.’ He glanced away. ‘I think this Van de Merwe cunt’s the father.’
‘That what she told you?’
The door burst open. Methven stomped into the room, eyes blazing. ‘Sergeant. A word.’
Cullen leaned across the table. ‘DI Methven has entered the room. Interview terminated at eleven eleven a.m.’ He got up and nodded at Buxton. ‘Stay here.’
‘Not going anywhere.’
Cullen left the room, feeling Vardy’s gaze burning into his back. He shut the door and braced himself for Methven’s onslaught.
‘Sergeant, I don’t know what the sodding hell you’re up to in there, but I want it to stop. Now.’
‘We’ve burst Candy’s alibi apart, sir. We’ve just established a motive for her to murder Van de Merwe.’
‘You went over my head and progressed the drug—’
‘This is a valid line of investigation.’
‘Your methods leave a lot to be desired. I’ve just received a sodding fax about ADC Buxton’s conduct. He kicked Vardy in the sodding balls!’
‘It was reasonable force, sir. Vardy kneed him first. I was having difficulty subduing him.’
‘This doesn’t look good.’
‘Look. He’s a big guy. That was the only option we had.’ Cullen smirked. ‘I’m sure you know what it feels like.’
‘You don’t mention that again, Cullen. I’m lucky to be an expectant father.’
Cullen felt his stomach lurch. ‘I didn’t know, sir. Congratulations.’
‘Thank you.’ Methven rubbed his neck. ‘Sergeant, DI Wilkinson visited me in person. He’s taking this to DCS Soutar. This investigation is one of the Chief Constable’s pet projects.’
Cullen ground his teeth together. ‘We’ve done everything
by the book, sir.’
Methven shook his head. ‘I thought we were past your cowboy behaviour.’
‘This is solid police work, sir.’
‘Just make sure it stands up in court.’
Thirty-Eight
Cullen stopped outside the witness interview room and nodded at Eva. ‘She ready to go?’
‘Aye, Sarge. Just a sec, though.’ She folded her arms. ‘Just got back from Fettes. Paula’s got Vardy on CCTV. Vardy was in Tigerlily till three on Sunday morning, then was chatting to his mates on George Street.’
‘It’s definitely him?’
‘We spoke to the bouncers on that night. They know him.’
‘Good work.’ Cullen stared at the door. ‘You done a line-up before?’
‘Did a couple when I was in Davenport’s team.’
‘You’re leading, then.’ Cullen followed her into the interview room and leaned against the wall. He smiled at Suzanne Marshall. ‘Thanks for agreeing to do this.’
‘Just doing my civil duty, Sergeant. Nothing special about that.’ Suzanne adjusted her summer dress. ‘I’m surprised it’s taken you so long to get back in touch with me about my statement.’
Eva cued up the DVD player app on the laptop. ‘Mrs Marshall, I’m going to show you a series of images of women matching the description you gave us. I need you to look at the women on the screen and tell me if you recognise any of them.’
Suzanne nodded, her earring twinkling. ‘Okay.’
Eva clicked the mouse. ‘Here we go.’
The VIPER logo swooshed across the display. It switched to a woman staring at the camera. Shoulder-length dark hair. Tall. Tanned. Number one at the top left, a grey wall behind her. She looked to her left. Then right. Then straight ahead again.
Suzanne blinked hard a few times. ‘It’s not her.’
‘Okay.’
The screen switched. Another woman, number two top left. Taller, thinner. She turned to her left.
‘That’s her.’
Cullen narrowed his eyes. Definitely Candy.
Eva clicked the mouse again, pausing the video. ‘You’re sure?’
‘Absolutely.’
Cullen frowned. ‘You only had a glance at her.’
‘Aye, but that’s her.’
Cullen flicked back through his notebook. ‘When we spoke to you on Sunday, you told us “I didn’t get a good look at her face, though.” How can you be so sure it’s her?’
‘I swear it is. I could see her hair. It was just like that.’
‘This is a very serious matter, Mrs Marshall. When we get a conviction, you will be put on the stand and the defence will attempt to tear apart your statement.’
‘It’s her.’
‘You don’t want to look at the other six we’ve got?’
‘That’s enough for me.’
‘Dean Bridge has sodium lights, Mrs Marshall. They can distort colours. You’re positive it was her?’
‘One hundred per cent.’
‘Okay.’ Cullen nodded at Eva. ‘Can you get a formal statement from Mrs Marshall and escort her out, please?’
* * *
Candy tried to smile, skin flaking as her cracked lips parted. Her tongue traced across her teeth. ‘What do you want to know?’
Cullen glanced at Methven, then smiled at Alistair Reynolds. ‘Tell your client I’d prefer the truth.’
‘Ms Broadhurst has only told the truth.’
‘Right.’ Cullen leaned over the desk, resting on his elbows. His phone buzzed in his pocket. ‘Candy, Mr Vardy didn’t back up your alibi for Sunday morning.’
Her eyes bulged. ‘What?’
‘At the time Mr Van de Merwe was killed, Dean was outside Tigerlily on George Street.’
‘He was with me!’
‘Candy, we’ve got him on CCTV.’
She rubbed her forehead, tears rolling down her blotchy cheeks. ‘He was with me.’ Her voice was tiny, barely loud enough for the mic to pick up.
‘Mr Vardy believes your baby is Mr Van de Merwe’s.’
‘What?’
‘So you are pregnant?’
‘Three months. Just gone.’ Her hand went to her belly. ‘This isn’t helping me slide down the pole.’ She grabbed a breast through her T-shirt. ‘These are bigger, though. Should get the silicone taken out.’
Cullen glared at her. ‘Please take this seriously.’
‘I am.’
‘Where were you at that time?’
‘Like I told you, I was at home. I’d been working. I’m shattered. This bloody baby…’
‘Did you kill Mr Van de Merwe?’
‘No fucking way. Are you serious?’
‘Why, then, do we have a witness statement placing you on Dean Bridge at the time in question?’
Candy fanned her fingers against her chest. ‘What?’
‘You heard.’ Cullen licked his lips. ‘We have a sighting of Mr Van de Merwe on the bridge with a woman. A member of the public’s just identified you.’
‘How?’
‘Remember the video you posed for?’
‘Christ.’
‘So, care to change your story?’
‘I wasn’t there. Whoever’s telling you this is lying their arse off.’
‘We found a cloak in your closet.’
Candy locked eyes with Cullen. ‘What?’
‘A red cloak. Matches the witness’s description of the woman Mr Van de Merwe was with.’
‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Mr Van de Merwe’s semen was splashed all over the cloak.’
‘What?’
‘We found it in your flat.’
‘You’d no right going in there?’
‘We had a search warrant.’ Cullen glanced over at Methven. Time for another tack. ‘How did Mr Vardy react to the news of the baby?’
She frowned. ‘He wants to protect me.’
‘Even though the baby’s not his?’
Candy shook her head, staring at the wall. ‘Fuck off.’
Cullen cracked his knuckles. ‘Candy, Dean thinks Mr Van de Merwe is the father.’
‘Right.’
‘You told us you didn’t have sex with him.’
‘And then you found all that evidence.’ She nodded, her head hardly moving. ‘Fine. I had sex with him.’
‘Unprotected?’
‘He paid extra. I forgot to take the fucking pill. That’s how I got into this shit.’
‘Did you tell Mr Vardy the baby’s his?’
‘Of course I did.’
‘To manipulate him?’
She looked away and sucked in breath. ‘It might be his.’
‘I’m not following you.’
‘That night, I was at this party at VDM’s. I went to Dean’s after it. We had sex when I got in.’ She ran the back of a hand across her face. ‘It hurt. But Dean wanted it… I didn’t refuse.’
‘So you told him it’s his?’
‘I did.’
‘Did he believe you?’
‘You need to ask him that, don’t you?’
‘Are you arresting or charging my client yet?’
Methven thumped his notebook shut. ‘That’s still to be decided.’
Reynolds held up his Pebble smartwatch and tapped the screen. ‘The clock’s still ticking.’
Methven stood and adjusted his suit jacket. ‘We’re aware of the timeline.’
‘We’ll wait with bated breath.’ Reynolds clasped Candy’s hand.
‘Interview terminated at twelve oh nine.’ Cullen followed Methven out into the corridor, easing the door shut behind him. ‘Well?’
‘This is a sodding mess, Sergeant.’
‘What matters is whether Vardy believed it was Van de Merwe’s kid.’
‘We’ve placed him elsewhere, though.’
‘He could’ve paid someone. All it takes is for him to think Van de Merwe’s knocked her up and get angry. He clearly thinks she’s his property. Killing Van de Merwe m
ight’ve been the next step.’
‘I’ll have another word with him.’ Methven pulled out his Airwave and fiddled with the keys before putting it to his ear. ‘DS Bain? Can you meet me outside interview room four? Thanks.’
‘You’re taking Bain in there?’
‘Your fingers are dirty, Sergeant.’ Methven wandered off down the corridor.
Cullen watched him go. Total wanker. He fished his phone from his pocket. A text from Rich — Want to meet for lunch?
Thirty-Nine
The waiter lugged two plates on one arm, presenting pasta to Rich and dumping a larger pizza plate in front of Cullen. ‘Would you like parmigiano? Black pepper?’
Rich smiled. ‘I’m good.’
‘Sir?’
Cullen smiled. ‘Can I have some Parmesan?’
The waiter tilted his head to the side. ‘On a pizza?’
‘Is that illegal?’
‘One moment.’ The waiter scuttled off.
Rich shook his head. ‘You’re still a freaky eater, Skinky.’
‘It’s a shame this place doesn’t have doner kebab pizza.’
‘It was a special last week, sir.’ The waiter spooned pale flakes of cheese over his pizza, dusting it all over the sea of mozzarella, dotted with red islands of pepperoni. ‘Enjoy, gentlemen.’
Cullen sliced into the crust. ‘See? Freaky eaters are the future.’
Rich’s gaze followed the waiter to another table. ‘I’d smash his back doors in.’
‘Come on, mate, I’m trying to eat.’
‘Right.’ Rich spiked a pasta shell. ‘That’s a fuckton of carbs, amigo.’
‘I might find time to go for another run tonight.’
‘Thought you’d given up.’
‘Nah. I jog home via Portobello once a week.’
‘And you don’t visit?’
‘You’d like me covered in sweat, would you?’ Cullen chewed a mouthful of pizza. The Parmesan ruined it. ‘This is on your expenses, right?’
‘Depends what you give me, Skinkster.’
‘What if it’s nothing?’
‘Then I’ll need a tenner.’
‘How’s it going?’
‘Shite. Job’s going down the toilet.’
‘How bad?’
‘Another round of lay-offs looming. Talk of us merging with the Scotsman or the Herald. Maybe selling out to a London paper.’
