by Ed James
Rich raised his eyebrows. "Aye?"
"Is his name Frank?"
"It might be."
"Well, could you get him to stop stalking Alison Carnegie?"
"The Survivor?"
"Is that what you're calling her?"
"I'll see what I can do." Rich nodded. "It's interesting you've been speaking to her, though. How's she doing?"
"She looks like shit."
"So does every bird you fuck."
Cullen laughed. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"Seriously, though, how is she?"
"She's back at work, though she's clearly haunted by what happened."
"How do you cope?"
"Who says I do? I'm a total mess behind this suave exterior."
"Be serious."
"I don't know. Seeing a counsellor has helped. Other than that, alcohol abuse and a voracious sexual appetite."
"That's not exactly healthy."
Cullen put down the crust of the seventh wedge. "Think Tom will want that?"
"Bound to. Just leave it in the kitchen, it'll soon disappear."
"Where is he?"
"No idea, he's been in late the last few weeks. You've not really noticed, have you?"
"What, cos I've been at Sharon's? Thanks for reminding me." Cullen got to his feet and stretched, his gut aching. "Fuck it, time for bed."
Wednesday
10th October 2012
CHAPTER 35
"You look happy for once." Buxton pushed open the door to the canteen.
"Proper night's sleep, no drinking." Cullen joined the back of the queue.
"Nothing to do with getting the lightest of all actions at the briefing?"
Cullen shrugged. "Write up the CCTV searches. Pure tedium."
He noticed DC Chantal Jain was in front of them in the queue. She turned around and glared.
Cullen held up his hands. "What?"
Chantal folded her arms. "What do you think? You're acting like a total fud, Scott. Sharon's torn to pieces by what you've done."
The red mist began to descend and Cullen fought hard to keep himself under control. "I'm sorry to hear that, but it's her doing."
"Are you honestly trying to tell me you've never told a lie?"
"Of course I've told lies, but not really any big ones."
"Not really?"
"Okay, not at all. I'm not overreacting. Why does nobody think how badly it's upsetting me?"
"This you finding a new bird, Sundance?" Bain slapped him on the back.
Cullen turned to look at him. "Very funny."
Wilkinson appeared alongside Bain. "You missed the briefing."
"Did I?" Cullen shrugged. "What did I miss?"
Wilkinson winced. "We just got a bollocking off Turnbull. The case review unit are in and they're looking at the paperwork for the Schoolbook case, like."
Cullen frowned as they stepped forward in the queue. "Seriously? Thought that was all sorted?"
"Aye. I need words with you and fuckin' Batgirl about who fucked up over those fuckin' death threats."
"LANGUAGE!" Barbara glowered from behind her counter.
Bain looked over, like a scolded schoolboy. "Sorry."
She held out a finger. "Any more of that and you'll be barred."
Bain held up his hands up. "Sorry."
Barbara went back to serving Chantal.
Bain muttered under his breath.
Cullen cleared his throat. "What were you saying apart from the F-words?"
"I was saying we'd have caught the fuckin' killer earlier if it wasn't for you and Caldwell mucking about with the death threats."
"If it wasn't for me, you would have convicted the wrong man."
Bain scowled. "Fuck this shite." He left them to it.
Barbara shook her head at the retreating figure.
Cullen turned back to see Chantal collecting her scrambled eggs and toast. He paid for his usual coffee and BLT, watching her head off towards Sharon and Caldwell. He'd seen the pair of them together a lot.
Wilkinson spoke in Cullen's ear. "Can't believe you broke up with her, Curran. Wouldn't mind getting up it myself."
Cullen collected his breakfast from the server them. "I'll see you around."
"Not so fast, Curran, I've got a bloody bone to pick with you."
"What?"
"Find a table. I'll be over in a minute."
"I'll see you downstairs, Simon."
Buxton nodded. "Laters."
Cullen wandered over to bollocking corner, which had just been vacated. He sat and tucked into his roll, bacon fat dribbling down his chin. What was Wilkinson after? Another trip to Schoolbook?
"Champion." Wilkinson sat down, a doubled-up fry-up on his plate. He sprayed it with tomato ketchup before piling his fork with a black pudding slice heaped with beans.
Cullen took a drink of coffee. "What is it you wanted?"
"I saw the charge sheet. Why do you have Dean Richardson in?"
Cullen put his roll down. "He stole my flatmate's mobile. I caught him at a friend's flat. Pure fluke."
"Well, he's been under surveillance for bloody weeks. We had two lads on him for hooliganism."
"Are you serious?"
"Of course I'm bloody serious. He was supposed to be at this quarry fight."
"With Derek Miller?"
Wilkinson frowned. "Aye. Why do you ask?"
"It was his flatmate."
"You're having me on." Wilkinson dropped his cutlery to the plate.
"I'm not. Has it fucked your case up?"
"Hopefully not. You've managed to get him on a charge, which is more than we bloody did. Might be able to get something out of him now we've got some leverage."
"What about Derek Miller?"
"Let's you and me have a word with him. I've got some uniform bringing him in."
***
Derek Miller looked unrecognisable in his business suit, having been picked up from his work in the sprawling Standard Life office at the bottom of Dundas Street.
Wilkinson leaned back in his chair and burped into his hand. He nodded for Cullen to lead.
Cullen started the interview. "Mr Miller, can you please confirm how you know Dean Richardson?"
"He's my flatmate."
"You just moved into that flat and there he was?"
Derek smiled. "Hardly. He's a mate of my pal, Jambo."
"I take it Jambo supports Hearts?"
"Aye. Only boy in my class at school that did."
"What can you tell us about Mr Richardson?"
"Nothing."
"Derek, I don't think you realise the magnitude of this situation."
"Don't I?"
Wilkinson leaned across the table. "We're investigating a football hooligan fight out in West Lothian. Two young men were killed. Our intelligence suggests you were there."
"That's bollocks. I was at my flat."
Derek's lawyer narrowed her eyes. "Could I receive a copy of this intelligence?"
Wilkinson nodded. "I'll make it available."
The lawyer grimaced. "That would be appreciated."
Cullen folded his arms. "Was Mr Richardson out there?"
"Have you not got any intelligence on that?" Derek grinned.
"Okay, we know he was." Cullen held Derek's gaze for a few seconds. "Was Mr Richardson involved?"
"How do you mean involved? You're saying he was there, so you tell me."
"Derek, we want to know if he was instrumental in arranging the fight."
"What makes you say that?"
"Intelligence. Was he?"
The lawyer leaned over and whispered in Derek's ear. Derek sniffed. "Aye, he was. He's one of the ringleaders."
Cullen exchanged a look with Wilkinson, grinning from ear to ear. "Where's Mr Richardson from?"
"From out West Lothian way."
"Where?"
"Think the place is called Ravencraig. Never heard of it till I met the punter, likes."
"Where does
he work?"
Derek smiled. "He doesn't. Says he's between jobs but he's always been like that. He never struggles to pay the rent."
Cullen scribbled it down. "How did he arrange the fight?"
"I don't know the specifics. Dean's in some Rangers firm out that way, like I'm involved with the Hibs casuals, as I suppose your intelligence will tell you."
"Did you say Rangers?"
"Aye."
"You weren't involved in arranging this?"
"Hardly." Derek laughed. "I'm a low-level boy in our gang. So low I wasn't even invited." He wagged a finger in the air. "No names from me about how I got involved in this, mind. I wasn't there. I just know things."
Cullen noted it. "I'll accept that for now if you give us some more information on Dean or this Rangers group he's involved in."
"I know there were some jambos and some huns. It was Hibs on our side, plus some Celtic boys but mostly us." Derek took a deep breath. "Heard some stuff from Dean, some nonsense about the boss of their firm raging about something. One of the boys in the gang being bent."
"Is that bent as in corrupt or as in homosexual?"
"Poofter." Derek smiled.
"And you definitely weren't there? Last chance to change your mind."
"Just prove I was."
Wilkinson got to his feet. "Off you go."
"I'm free to go?"
"Aye. You're walking yourself back to Standard Life, mind."
"Happy days."
"The PCSO will show you out." Wilkinson left the room and set off down the corridor. "He's up to his nuts in this. There's no way he wasn't there."
"He had a shiner when I saw him at the weekend." Cullen pointed to his eye. "Tried to sell me a story about getting into a fight with some guy on Leith Walk."
"So he's bloody lying, right?"
"Much as I hate to say it, I think so. It pisses me off. I thought he'd turned the corner but clearly not."
Wilkinson held open the door to the stairwell. "I'll ask around on my side. If we can place him at that bloody quarry last week then we've got ourselves something." He stroked his chin. "You used to be based out there, right?"
"West Lothian, aye."
"Can you go and do some digging?"
"If you clear it with Cargill."
"Don't bloody worry about that, Curran, I'm ordering you out there."
Cullen stared at the table, knowing he had no real choice but to tell Methven and then just get on with it.
CHAPTER 36
"I must thank you, Mr Cullen. I got off with a caution." Skinner's voice was almost lost to the din in the background.
Cullen put the phone to his other ear. "Where are you?"
"I'm just making coffee."
"Can you turn the kettle off?"
"Done." Skinner was clearer now. "I was saying I got off with a caution."
"Well, let's just say you still owe me one. That lead you gave went nowhere."
"It's always good to be in debt to a police officer."
"Isn't it the other way round?"
Skinner grinned. "Not with you. You'll want that debt repaid. I can be useful, then."
"Next time, I probably won't help. There are limits to what I can let pass."
"Point noted, Mr Cullen. How can I help?"
"Dean Richardson. You know him?"
"I do."
"Spill."
"He's from Ravencraig. Given you're calling me, I suspect you already know that."
"Very insightful."
"He's got himself into bother a few times."
Cullen leaned forward on the seat. "Barry, I need some concrete stuff. How do you know him?"
"He was in the same year at school as my wee sister."
"I didn't know you had a sister."
"She lives in Glasgow now."
"Does she know about your specialist interests?"
"I tell you, they're all gagging for it. I had to stop a woman in the Co-op from putting her hands down my pants yesterday."
"This wouldn't be a security guard and you wouldn't have been stealing something?"
"God's honest truth."
"So, your sister and Dean Richardson."
"They were in the same class. He was always in trouble at school. Fighting, bullying, you name it. He was good at football. Played left back for the school team. I heard he had a trial at Rangers. Would have been two thousand and three or four, maybe?"
Cullen frowned as he wrote it down. That would make Richardson only twenty-three or twenty-four. He looked a lot older. "What age is he?"
"Twenty-three."
Cullen raised an eyebrow. "No way."
"Paper round in Basra. Anyway, this trial with Rangers wasn't a success. From what I gather, he took it personally and just sort of fell apart."
Something twigged at the back of Cullen's mind. Keith Miller once told him Derek had trials with Hibs and Rangers in his youth. Was there a connection there? It felt like too big a coincidence to rule out. "Okay, what else can you tell me?"
"Nothing much, I'm afraid. He's a member of the Ravencraig Rangers Supporters' Club. Used to go to all the home matches and most of the away ones."
"How did he afford it?"
"Don't ask, don't tell."
"Thanks. I'll let you know if that's you off the hook."
"Goodbye, Mr Cu-"
Cullen pocketed his phone as he looked across the Incident Room. Wilkinson was just finishing a call. He got up and slapped him on the back. "Got something."
Wilkinson looked up with a scowl. "What is it?"
"Bit of a long shot but I think Dean Richardson might have had a trial with Derek Miller back in the day."
"That it? We've already connected them. They shared a flat."
"The trial was with Rangers. That might be behind this fight in the quarry."
Wilkinson checked his watch. "Richardson's just come back from court about your mobile phone. Let's see what else he's got to say about this."
***
"Mr Richardson, we know you were there. So, please can you confirm it for the record?" Wilkinson sat back and folded his arms.
Richardson grinned. "Where exactly are we talking about?"
"Ginty's Quarry near Livingston. Hearts and Rangers fans fought Hibs and Celtic fans. We have witness statements placing you there."
"Fine, if you've got witness statements then surely you don't need me to confirm anything?"
"Mr Reynolds, need I remind you of the serious charges your client is facing."
Richardson leaned over and pointed a finger at Wilkinson. "I've just been up to court. The sheriff said the trial will be in the next six weeks. I don't think stealing a phone from your pal's boyfriend is a serious crime."
"I never said it was. Being involved in a fight that resulted in two deaths would be."
"Eh?"
"We're very short on suspects just now and you certainly fit the bill." Wilkinson got out a sheet of paper and traced down it with his finger. "Your police record shows a history of violence. I'd imagine we don't have to dig too deep to link you to this."
Reynolds swallowed.
"Now, I'll ask you again." Wilkinson smiled. "Were you at Ginty's Quarry last week?"
Richardson looked at his solicitor then rubbed his cheek. "I was."
"Now we're getting somewhere. You know two people were killed there, cos I just told you. Do you know anything about their deaths?"
"What were they called?"
Wilkinson turned to another sheet of paper, showing autopsy photographs of both - skinny boys in their early twenties, skin now white. "Liam Crossan, Gordon Beveridge." He glared at Richardson. "Celtic and Hibs."
"I know Gogs Beveridge."
Wilkinson frowned. "How?"
"Through these sorts of things."
"Are you admitting to being a hooligan?"
"I don't think I've much choice. You've got witnesses. Might as well be honest, hopefully you'll go easy on me." Richardson winked.
&n
bsp; "You'll face the full force of the law."
"I will, will I?" Richardson sneered and looked round at Reynolds. "Hear that, Ally? Says I'll face the full force of the law."
Wilkinson screwed up his eyes. "What's bloody going on here?"
"If you're prepared to listen to what my client has to offer, perhaps some sort of deal may be reached."
Cullen folded his arms. "Not for the phone."
Reynolds shrugged. "Fine, not for the phone but certainly for anything relating to hooliganism."
"I'll have to have a word with the PF." Wilkinson sniffed. "What I can do is promise I'll look into it once we hear your side."
"What I've got to offer is the murder weapon."
"Have you really?" Wilkinson narrowed his eyes. "We need the murderer."
Richardson shrugged. "Wish I knew who killed those two. I just saw a knife on the ground, covered in blood and picked it up. It's in a plastic bag."
"You're in the habit of just picking knives up?"
"I nicked your boyfriend's mobile, didn't I? Besides, you never know when you might need something useful like that."
Cullen leaned over to Wilkinson. "Can I have a word?"
They got up and went into the corridor.
Wilkinson slammed the door shut. "What is it, Curran?"
"Think he's on the level?"
"Only one way to find out." Wilkinson got out his mobile. "Give me a minute." He turned around as the phone rang. "Hiya, Kate, it's Paul Wilkinson. You good for a chat just now about Operation Housebrick? It'll literally be just five minutes."
Wilkinson slowly walked down the corridor, Cullen unable to make out much of what was being discussed.
He leaned back against the wall and tried to focus on the case. His natural instinct with Richardson was not to trust him. He felt he was offering the information up far too easily. Then again, his police record was longer than most Cullen had ever seen, so maybe he just knew how to play the system.
Wilkinson reappeared, grinning. "That was the PF. She's buying it."
"So we've got a deal with Richardson?"
"That we do, lad, that we do."
