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

by Ed James

  ‘We’ll see.’ Cullen looked around the bar area. Bass drums, shouting, neon lights, short skirts, open shirts. No sign of Tom. ‘You sure you’re not going for that train, Stuart?’

  ‘I’ll get the last one.’ Murray glanced at his watch. ‘Quarter past eleven, I think.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘There’s a Dunbar one at half past if I miss it. Get a Joe Baksi back to Garleton.’ Murray got out his wallet. ‘What do you want?’

  A voice beside him. ‘Scott Cullen.’

  Cullen spun around.

  A woman pinched his cheek. Dolled up, pretty. Leather skirt, leather boots. Unnecessary spectacles, giant red frames with no prescription.

  He frowned. ‘Do I know you?’

  She grinned, eyes twinkling with mischief. ‘It’s Lorna?’

  ‘Lorna?’

  She took off the glasses. ‘Lorna Gilmour? From Alba Bank?’

  ‘Christ, I didn’t recognise you.’

  ‘It’s these, right?’ She held up the specs and waved behind her. ‘Tom’s back there.’

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’ She put the glasses back on and waved a black credit card around. ‘This’s on the bank.’ She winked at Buxton. ‘Constable?’

  ‘Yeah, cheers. Lager.’

  ‘I love the way you say it. Like that Underworld song. It’s a great accent.’

  ‘Been trying to lose it for years.’

  ‘What about you, Scott?’

  Cullen sucked in the air, tasting dry ice. ‘Lager. Bottle.’

  ‘I’ll get your drinks.’ She muscled in next to Murray, smiling at him. ‘Another lager?’

  * * *

  Cullen battered through the crowd, clocking Tom’s ruddy face in a booth at the back. Another four people next to him.

  Tom made eye contact and raised an almost-empty bottle of Tiger. ‘Skinky!’

  ‘Evening, sir.’ Cullen wedged in next to him. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Good night so far.’ Tom held out a hand to Buxton. ‘Congrats, mate. Skinky finally bothered to sort out your promotion, right?’

  ‘Cheers. But it’s not a promotion.’

  ‘Aye, aye. Must feel good, though, right?’

  ‘It does.’ Buxton grinned. ‘Really good.’

  Tom took a slug of lager. ‘Lorna’s just gone to the bar.’

  ‘We saw her.’

  Tom made room for Buxton to sit and grabbed a leatherette stool from the next table, dumping it at the end. ‘You know Rob, right?’

  Rob Thomson swigged from a bottle of Grolsch, the cap rattling. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Cullen raised his hands. ‘Having a drink.’

  Thomson pushed his bottle onto the table. ‘You framed anyone for Van de Merwe yet?’

  ‘Can’t comment on an active investigation.’

  ‘Bullshit.’

  ‘Seriously, we can’t.’

  ‘You know who I think it is? One of those fucking Indians. They’re all over this programme. Complete disaster.’

  ‘Why would they kill him?’

  ‘I’m just providing the intel. You find the motive and arrest the bastards.’

  ‘I’ll bear it in mind.’

  Lorna pushed a tray onto the table, a tall glass of rosé and eight shooters. ‘Here you are, boys!’

  Murray dumped a bucket of six Cobras, snatched a bottle and perched on his stool.

  Cullen grabbed a beer, ice cold. ‘How much do we owe you?’

  ‘This is on expenses.’ Lorna nodded across at Thomson. ‘Rob’s team … powered up the first server? Is that right?’

  ‘Aye. Some heavy-duty kit.’ Thomson raised a shoulder. ‘We had to open another data centre in Linlithgow, otherwise there would’ve been blackouts in Edinburgh.’

  Cullen frowned. ‘As in the power going out?’

  ‘It’s true.’ Tom snatched a Cobra. ‘Seriously heavy-duty kit.’

  Lorna looked around. ‘Oh, there’s nowhere to sit.’ She sat on Buxton’s lap. ‘Hope you don’t mind.’

  Buxton sipped his beer. ‘This is fine.’

  Cullen mouthed, ‘Cougar.’

  ‘Piss off.’

  ‘Lorna, quit twerking the guy.’ Thomson picked at the label on his bottle, nodding at Cullen. ‘Heard about that Martin Ferguson boy you were asking me about.’

  ‘Look, I’m off duty.’

  ‘Aye, bullshit. Poor guy. Someone said he was into whips and shite like that.’ Thomson smirked at Lorna. ‘You weren’t into that, were you?’

  ‘Piss off. You fucking know he was stalking me.’

  ‘Aye, aye.’

  ‘I mean it, Rob.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Thomson took another swig, narrowing his eyes at Cullen. ‘You’ve been asking about UC Partners, right? Bunch of fucking cowboys.’

  Buxton peered around Lorna. ‘What do you mean, cowboys?’

  ‘I managed the handover to IMC. Basically, they’d have been better starting over again. They’d no idea how to design an application. Just coded shit up, making it up as they went along. Left no documentation, designs, test cases — nothing. They’ve got a squad out in Pune going through it all. Documenting every line of code. Fucking cowboys…’

  ‘IMC have?’

  ‘Aye. This whole thing’s hardly going to deliver two quid of benefit let alone a billion.’ Thomson necked his beer and stood up. ‘Need to get home. Got my boy staying with me tomorrow.’ He waited for Buxton and Lorna to move then set off with a wave. ‘See you all on Monday.’

  Buxton stole his seat, wriggling free of Lorna. ‘He okay?’

  She shrugged and put her specs on his nose. ‘Think he’s found it hard with you lot being here. Reminded him what happened to Kim.’ She took a big dent out of her wine. ‘It’s been tough.’

  ‘Can’t begin to imagine.’

  ‘Imagine what?’ Rich grabbed a beer from the bucket and sat at the end of their table. ‘Evening.’

  Cullen tapped his arm. ‘Thought you couldn’t make it?’

  ‘Time off for good behaviour. Besides, I’ve done a shitload this week.’

  ‘Aye, and I’m paying for it.’ Cullen took a drink, dull compared to the Punk IPA.

  ‘And that’s me off.’ Murray dumped his empty bottle and grabbed his coat. ‘Have to love you and leave you, I’m afraid. See you tomorrow, guys.’ He wandered off through the club.

  Lorna watched him go, then dished out shot glasses. ‘Right, down this lot.’

  Cullen nudged the drink away. His bladder burned. ‘I’m not touching that.’

  ‘Just a wee shooter?’ Lorna snuggled into Buxton. ‘Come on, grow a pair!’

  ‘That’s my limit.’ Cullen took a drink of water. ‘I’m on to soft drinks now.’

  ‘Lightweight!’

  ‘Seriously, stop it. Tom, Rich, one of you take this. And talk sense into her.’

  ‘Come on, it’s just a Goldschläger.’ Lorna took her glasses off Buxton’s nose and rested them on the top of her head. ‘It’s your turn.’

  ‘My days of shooters are long gone.’ He sucked on the beer, avoiding looking at her. He gazed around the club, spotted a couple groping each other at the next table. Time to get home and feed Fluffy. Scoop shit out of his litter tray. Drink a cup of decaf tea. Kip and get in early tomorrow. Maybe catch a murderer.

  He put the empty bottle down and got up. ‘Off for a slash.’ He wandered to the back of the bar, heading for the toilets. Stopped just outside, looking across the rammed dance floor. Music blasted his ears. Lights strobed across the hands in the air. Two pairs of male and female dancers strutted on podiums in the middle.

  He pushed into the Gents.

  A hand grabbed his shoulder. Harsh voice in his ear, female. ‘If you could just come with me, sir.’

  He twisted round and jerked his head back. ‘Sharon?’

  She laughed, her face caked in make-up. Tight jeans, strapless purple top, hair tied up. ‘What are you doing here?’

 
‘Meeting Tom for a drink. Rich’s just turned up. Had two pints at the Elm and I’m now on Tiger.’ He shrugged. ‘Might be Cobra, can never remember the difference.’

  ‘That right?’

  ‘I’ve got everything under control.’

  ‘Is that what you’re telling yourself?’

  He burped into his hand. ‘This is my chance to show I’m in control. That bottle’s the last one, I swear. Home and Mario. And Fluffy.’ He tried for his best smile. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘A barman called in with a suspect an hour ago. There’s been a guy hitting on men on the dance floor. Can’t see him, though.’

  ‘I’ll keep my eyes peeled.’

  ‘Don’t.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you’re drunk, Scott.’

  ‘I’m not. Look, I can help.’

  ‘You’ll blow our cover. And I don’t mind. Just keep a lid on it.’

  ‘See you later.’ He pecked her on the cheek and pushed into the toilet, passing the guy with the table of aftershaves. Had to stand between two men at the urinals. As he washed his hands, he noticed one of the cubicle doors hanging open a crack.

  ‘Come on, man. I love the fuck out of you. Let’s do it here. Right now.’

  ‘Fuck off. Thanks for the coke and everything, but—’

  ‘You cock tease.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You fucking knew it wasn’t just drugs on offer.’

  Shite. Cullen barged past a man at the Dyson Airblade into the bar area. He scanned around. There. He jostled through the crowd. ‘Chantal, have you seen—’

  ‘Scott?’ Jain raised an eyebrow. Short skirt, white blouse with a plunging neckline. ‘Fucking hell, Scott, have you been drinking?’

  ‘A bit. Look, I think your guy’s in the cubicles. He’s doing coke with some guy in trap one.’

  ‘Trap one?’

  ‘The first cubicle.’

  She reached into her purse for her Airwave and held it up to her face. ‘Sharon, we’ve got a suspect.’ She listened to the response. ‘I’ll head in there with him, aye.’ She killed the call.

  ‘Me?’

  ‘No, Scott. McKeown. And keep your eyes off my tits.’

  ‘Got no choice when you present them like that.’

  She waved at McKeown, then at the toilet door. ‘You ready?’

  He nodded. ‘Always am with you.’

  ‘Shut up, Mac.’

  Forty-Five

  Cullen slid into the seat and took a drink of beer, draining the bottle. Definitely time to get home.

  ‘You were a while.’ Buxton held Lorna’s hand. She stared into space, a smile on her face, glasses back on.

  Cullen nodded at Lorna’s hand, tucked into his.

  Buxton mouthed, ‘Shut up.’

  Tom looked up from fiddling with his mobile and winked at Cullen.

  His phone rumbled in his pocket. Cullen checked the display, a text from Tom. Your mate’s well in there.

  He nodded at Tom and replied. Tenner says no.

  A notification flashed up on his screen. The Edinburgh Argus app.

  Alba Bank BDSM Ring

  He tapped the message. ‘Cheeky fucker.’

  Tom frowned. ‘Who is?’

  Cullen looked around. No sign of Rich. No, wait. There.

  Rich swanned through the crowd, dumping a tray of shot glasses on the table. ‘Sambuca time!’

  Cullen got up and grabbed his shirt, shoving the phone in his face. ‘What the fuck’s this?’

  ‘It’s news, Skinky. Corruption and sexual deviancy at a bank. Just need a paedo and we’ve got the set.’

  ‘Where did you get it?’

  Rich smirked. ‘So it’s true?’

  ‘We had a deal.’

  ‘No, Skinky. We didn’t.’

  ‘You said you’d share what—’

  ‘We said we’d share stuff. I had to wait on the press release. First opportunity and you blew it. This is what you get, mate.’

  ‘Come on, Rich. That story could only have come from the police. Both stories.’

  ‘You reckon?’

  ‘Okay, let’s play your game. Who’s your source?’

  ‘For which story?’

  ‘What do you mean which one?’

  ‘Check your app.’

  Cullen flicked down the notifications on his phone.

  Consultancy Fraud At Death Bank

  ‘You total wanker.’ Cullen prodded his finger at the mobile. ‘You got that lead off my phone. In the restaurant at lunchtime, when I went to the bloody toilet.’

  ‘When you were crying?’

  ‘Piss off, Rich. You saw the message come in. It mentioned a name.’

  ‘Should really change your Notification settings, mate. You can stop the whole text showing up.’ Rich picked up a Sambuca and downed it. ‘Good start, though. I dug into this guy. Took me to UC Partners and what they were up to.’

  ‘You should’ve come to me.’

  ‘Like fuck I should. They had the same trick going on across a few other projects at Alba Bank.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Because you didn’t tell me about Martin Ferguson. That was gold dust, mate. I found out after the press release this evening. You’ve let me down.’

  ‘I’m going to arrest you. Right now. We’ll go down to the station. You’ll tell me who’s leaking this shit to you. And we’ll charge both of you.’

  ‘Come on, mate.’

  ‘Do you know where he is?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Paul Vaccaro. Mr UC Partners. The name you got from my phone.’

  ‘I could ask my source.’

  ‘You’re going to tell me their name.’

  ‘Fuck off, Scott.’

  ‘You’re really pissing me off.’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry, Skinky, but you don’t realise how fucked things are for me.’

  ‘Call your guy.’

  ‘Come o—’

  ‘Now.’

  ‘In the morning.’ Rich pushed him away and stomped across the club to the toilets.

  Cullen glared at him. Cheeky fucker. ‘I’m heading home.’

  Lorna finished her Sambuca and glanced up at him. ‘You sure?’ She slurred her words. Eyes weren’t staying open. ‘What was that all about?’

  ‘He’s being a wanker.’

  She held Buxton’s hand up in the air. ‘We should go dancing! Right now! After another round.’

  ‘I’m good.’ Cullen finished his beer.

  ‘I’ve still got the corporate card, Scott. Another round, then you can do whatever you want.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Come on. Simon’s just got promoted—’

  ‘It’s not a promotion.’ Buxton downed his Sambuca and took a suck of lager. ‘I’m just saying.’

  ‘Okay, whatever. Still deserves a toast. Come on.’

  Cullen exchanged a look with Buxton. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Simon?’

  ‘Not had a Grolsch in ages.’

  ‘Tom?’

  ‘I’ll go for that. Get Rich one too.’

  Cullen scowled. ‘Only if I can piss in it first.’

  ‘Back in a sec.’ Lorna sprang to her feet, grabbed the tray and darted off.

  Cullen shook his head. ‘Seeing a different side to her tonight.’

  ‘She’s quite the girl. Professional as you like during the day, but get a wine inside her, and boom!’

  Tap on the shoulder. Whisper in his ear. ‘We’ve caught him.’

  Cullen shifted round in the seat and frowned at Sharon, Jain standing next to her. ‘The guy in the toilet?’

  ‘Pocketful of roofies.’ She kissed him on the lips, lingering. ‘I’ll see you when I get home. Don’t stay too late, okay?’

  ‘I’ll head soon.’

  ‘See you.’ Sharon squeezed his shoulder and disappeared into the crowd.

  Jain reached over and took a glug of Buxton’s beer. ‘Have another one, you big t
wat.’

  Cullen rolled his eyes at her. ‘What’s it to you?’

  ‘Come on, you’re off the lead. Man up, Scott.’

  ‘Now you realise why I gave you to Sharon.’

  ‘Watch it. Come on. Be thankful you’re not working like me and Shaz. Just one. For me?’

  ‘The more you push, the less likely I’ll have another one.’

  Buxton leaned over to whisper something to Jain. ‘Can I fuck you?’ Far too loud.

  Her eyes darted around. She leaned in and breathed into his ear. ‘Fuck off, Simon.’ She raced off after Sharon.

  Buxton winked at Cullen. ‘See? I’ve got no chance with her.’ He stood up. ‘Need a slash.’

  ‘Might need to be more subtle, mate.’ Tom laughed and took another drink.

  Lorna put the tray down, three fancy beer bottles and a glass of rosé. ‘Here you go.’

  ‘Cheers.’ Tom rattled the open cap and took a slug. ‘Fancy bottle, but it’s still the usual fizzy pish.’

  Lorna sat down across from Cullen. ‘Where’s Simon?’

  Cullen eyed Rich’s bottle, his mouth watering. ‘He’s gone to the toilet.’

  ‘Right.’

  Tom took another drink. ‘Were you trying it on with him?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘You’re such a cougar, Lorna. We’ll have to sift through your lair for his bones.’

  ‘Chance’d be a fine thing.’ She gulped down wine. ‘That your girlfriend?’

  Cullen shrugged. ‘Just collared a serial rapist, by the looks of things.’

  She shook her head. ‘Fucking scumbags.’

  ‘Who, the police?’

  ‘No, rapists.’

  ‘Right.’ Cullen grabbed Rich’s bottle and took a long drink. ‘Shame for that to go to waste.’

  Lorna rolled her eyes at him. ‘So you are drinking, after all?’

  Cullen stared at the bottle. ‘Aye, fuck it.’

  She shook her head. ‘Better get Rich another, then.’

  ‘Great idea. You’re the one holding the purse.’

  She raised her bag. ‘Ha, very good.’ She put her glasses back on and wandered off towards the bar.

  Tom clattered his bottle down, fizz boiling up. ‘Rich said you guys had lunch today.’

  ‘Aye, and?’

  ‘Seriously, mate. Are you okay?’