by Ed James
There.
A white toilet brush, resting in a holder.
Cullen reached out for it amid a series of punishing punches to his shoulder. Felt like his arm was separating from his body. He grabbed the brush handle and pulled it out, flicking a spray of foetid water up into Petersen’s eyes.
‘Ah, you fucker!’ Petersen covered his face with his hands, digging into his eye sockets. ‘You’ve fucking blinded me!’
Cullen used Petersen’s confusion to poke the brush into his groin, making him squeal. He grabbed his ankle from the front and tugged it.
Petersen fell backwards, cracking his head off the toilet seat.
Cullen pushed himself up to a kneel and grabbed his baton from the floor. He wedged it against Petersen’ throat. ‘Rich Petersen, I’m arresting you for the murder of—’
‘I want a fucking lawyer!’
15
Cullen knew he shouldn’t be here, given the state of him, but he needed to send Petersen down. He took the seat next to McCrea in the interview room, sipping sugary tea. He tried to roll his shoulder again and the injection’s blissful numbness made him forget all about the searing pain. Another blast of it made him remember. He tried to hide his gasp with another sip of tea.
‘I said, no comment.’ Rich Petersen sat opposite, stinking of rubbish.
Almost made Cullen gag. He had to get up and walk around the room, otherwise he was going to lose another meal. ‘Mr Petersen, let’s go through this slowly. You’d drugged and trussed up my colleague in your bedroom. Detective Sergeant Brian Bain. When I burst into your flat, you fled the scene. That sound about right?’
His lawyer looked up from his silvery tablet. An elf-like beanpole in a black pinstripe who’d grown through his hair, leaving a silvery ring around his ears. ‘My client is maintaining his right to silence. I believe you have to respect that, mm?’
‘His right isn’t transferrable. I’m going to ask as many questions as I want.’ Cullen stared at Petersen, waiting for him to look up. ‘Were you going to do what you did to Paul Skinner?’
‘You not listening, eh? I said no comment.’
‘I found my colleague trussed up in a nappy in your apartment, out of his head on the ecstasy you’d given him. Were you going to rape him? Were you going to kill him?’
‘No comment.’
The lawyer had trained him well.
‘Funny thing is, DC McCrea here has been investigating a few similar crimes. Men and women date raped and put in nappies, then left in bins.’
‘Nappies. That’s a fucking good one.’
‘You were going to kill him, weren’t you?’
Petersen hammered the table. ‘Fuck off!’
Getting somewhere now.
‘So what were you planning on doing to him?’
‘No comment!’
‘Because it feels a lot like it’s the same person, and maybe they’re escalating. Usually it starts with fire-starting. Something low level, but destructive, maybe targeted at someone who lives nearby, either to enact revenge for some perceived slight, to show off or just for kicks. But soon you’ve set fire to a house or a garage, and there’s no reason for it now. And it doesn’t stop there, does it? Because you’ve got away with the fires, soon it progresses to rape. Because you want to. Because you feel you deserve to have it. Then when you get away with that a few times, you realise you’ve got away with fires and rapes, so why not just kill them? Makes sense, doesn’t it? No witnesses left to say what you did or didn’t do. Whether you got consent. That sound right?’
‘It wasn’t me!’
A knock at the door and it cracked open. Methven’s monster eyebrows were visible, along with his finger beckoning Cullen out.
‘Interview paused at 15:23.’ Cullen left the room and pulled the door shut behind him. ‘Sir?’
Bain leaned back against the wall, silently fuming, fists clenched. He stepped forward. ‘Sundance, can you keep a fuckin’ lid on it, eh? Not everyone wants to hear about my… About what happened.’
‘What happened to you is part of the case.’ Cullen gave him a concerned look. ‘The doctor happy to let you out?’
‘Said I’m fine.’
‘You okay?’
‘Go fuck yourself, Sundance.’ But Bain shut his eyes, betraying his pain.
‘Whatever help you need to deal with being a victim, consider it done.’
Bain stared at him through damp eyes. ‘Thanks.’
Methven joined him, clutching a machine coffee. ‘Scott, I’ve been watching and you’re not getting anything. Fast.’
‘Hard to argue with that. Petersen’s a psychopath, I reckon. He isn’t the type to spill his guts, but he isn’t the type to take the credit either, so he can brag about what he’s been doing.’
‘Well.’ Methven pushed away from the wall and started jangling the keys in his pockets. ‘There’s no way Petersen is escaping this one. I’d rather he confessed, though.’
‘Seen boys like him get off with anything, Col.’ Bain glugged burning hot coffee like it was juice. ‘Mark my fuckin’ words.’
‘He’s a sodding murderer! He’s not getting off with this!’
Dr Gibson joined them, clutching a fancy tablet. ‘He’s not a murderer.’
‘What?’
‘Colin, please don’t hold this against me. My initial assessment was incorrect and it’s troubled me since.’
Bain smirked. ‘Darling, you’ve got a lot of explaining to do here.’
She ran a hand through her hair, fanning it out wide. ‘I believe that, while the strangulation was peri-mortem, it wasn’t the cause of death.’
‘Eh?’ Bain frowned at Cullen, then back at Methven. ‘What killed him then?’
‘Judging by the presence of what we term a totally occlusive thrombotic mass, the actual cause of death was acute myocardial ischemia.’ She paused. ‘A heart attack.’
‘You’re serious?’
She nodded. ‘I reached out to James Deeley through in Edinburgh and, while he has only seen a series of snapshots and video files, James does follow my logic and agrees in principle.’
Cullen sucked breath through his teeth. Skinner died of a heart attack. ‘So what the hell did happen?’
‘I want you to find out.’ Methven clapped his shoulder. ‘Run this past Petersen. Five minutes, then we’ll take a break and regroup. Okay?’ He slipped off back towards the observation suite.
Cullen was losing a handle on the case. The streak-of-piss lawyer could poke holes in anything they’d done. Bain or McCrea, one or both of them would’ve screwed something up big time, and he’d not find out until much later.
He sloped back into the interview room and started the recorder again. ‘Interview recommenced at 15:29.’ He took his seat and waited till Petersen looked up at him. ‘So. Mr Petersen, I want to apologise.’
He looked up with a deep frown.
‘I seem to have misjudged you. I see it now, clear as day. You’re a lover, not a fighter. I bet you never killed anyone. I bet Paul’s death was an accident. If that’s what happened, then tell me the truth about it and don’t let everyone else think you’re a murderer when you’re not. Work with me here.’
Petersen stared at his lawyer for a few seconds, then at Cullen. ‘No comment.’
‘Sure about that?’ Cullen left him a few seconds. ‘Because, as it stands, you’re going to be charged with a number of rapes. Five, is it, Damian?’
McCrea cleared his throat. ‘Five, plus dumping this body. And he assaulted DS Bain, drugged him and… Well. I’d say five rapes, but it could’ve been six or seven.’
‘And we’re also going to charge you with Paul Skinner’s murder as well as his rape.’
‘You got scared, didn’t you? I mean, rape is one thing but what do you do with a dead body. You were just having a laugh, not trying to kill anyone…’
Petersen stared at the desk. He slammed his fist into the table. Looked like it hurt, too. ‘It wasn’t me! He died
of a heart attack!’
And there it was. Oldest trick in the book. Get the suspect to think you understand why they did what they did. Always makes a suspect more likely to confess to someone who ‘gets it’.
‘Turns out the cause of death for Mr Skinner wasn’t the strangulation. The post mortem found that he died of a heart attack.’ Cullen sat back in his chair. Heard this before. ‘How about you tell me it all?’
Petersen took a few seconds to think it all through. Then he leaned over to whisper in his lawyer’s ear. He got a non-commital shrug. ‘I didn’t rape Skinner. It was consensual.’
Cullen cracked his knuckles, loud and hard. ‘There are eighty-three police officers in this building, sixty uniform and twenty-three plainclothes detectives. I’m the only one with the training, education and compassion to understand that there are always reasons. That sometimes things don’t happen the way they were planned. Now, Mr Petersen, I am going to be quiet and listen. I at least want to give you that chance. Your choice whether you take it or not.’
Petersen cleared his throat. ‘Right, mate, I’m telling you this because I trust you, okay? Here’s what happened, eh? I was out with Marie. She’s a friend of mine. Had a few cocktails, then she asked me to go back to a party at her boyfriend’s. There was booze and coke and music and I don’t drink, but the other two, well… So I got speaking to his bloke, yeah? Seemed like a good laugh, started dancing to Beyoncé and I said, let’s get out of there. Took him back to mine. We were getting it on in my bed. I’d… I’d finished and he was still ploughing away, then he … He just died, man.’
‘Just died?’
‘One minute he was pounding my arsehole, next thing I know he’s a dead weight on me.’
‘Why didn’t you call 999?’
Petersen couldn’t maintain eye contact. ‘I wanted to.’
‘And what stopped you? Why dump the body?’
‘No comment.’
‘You knew about the DNA and knew we’d tie the others to you. So you panicked and disposed of the body in a bin where you’d be collecting first thing. Then you’d get rid of the body on your rounds, but your workmate interrupted you.’
‘Big fucking Jim. He ruined it all.’ Petersen stared up at the ceiling. ‘A fucking heart attack, man.’
‘And what about DS Bain?’
‘He got too close. That’s it.’
‘Did you rape him?’
‘Of course I didn’t. I’ve got standards.’
CULLEN STOOD against the back wall of the obs suite, his legs aching with the tickle of lactic acid, right up the backs of his calves and hamstrings. He hadn’t run like that in ages.
Methven sat in front of him, silently fuming. He pressed the giant button on the controls and put the interview on mute.
On the screen, McCrea and Hunter were interviewing Rich Petersen, taking it all down in great detail.
It was like a tap had opened and wasn’t going to stop pouring for a long time. Petersen sat still, arms folded across his chest, showing no emotion as he described in precise detail the brutality of his attacks. The only mercy was Cullen could longer hear the depravity.
Methven. ‘Well, it looks like we’ve got enough evidence to support a conviction, I’d wager. We solved five rapes, a murder and an attack on a serving officer. Mr Petersen will be going away for a very long time. Excellent work.’
‘Thanks, sir.’ Cullen tried to ease his shoulder round, but pain flared. ‘We were lucky.’
‘Maybe, but we did well. You did well, Scott.’
‘Thanks, sir.’
Methven got up and joined Cullen by the back wall, but whatever Cullen did he couldn’t stop him staring right at him. ‘I still need you to get your team-size review to Carolyn.’
Cullen stared up at the ceiling, the one place Methven couldn’t be. ‘I need two DSs. And I want to keep Bain.’
Methven laughed, shaking his head. ‘You two should work together more often.’
EPILOGUE
BAIN
I lower myself in the bath and the water’s fuckin’ burning. Feels like my bawbag’s on fire, I tell you.
Not as sore as my old fella, I’ll tell you that too. That dirty South African bastard, slipping us a Viagra. What was he playing at?
Need to ignore it. Focus on the here and now.
I reach over to the edge of the bath and grab the beer. Still cold, so I take a sip and that’s the fuckin’ ticket. Not bad, bit too bitter for my tastes, but hoppy enough. Thinking an eight out of ten for the next podcast. Bet Elvis gives it a four, the poncy sod. Him and his fuckin’ sours and porters. I put it back on the side and crack my bonce off the bath edge.
It hurts like buggery.
Shouldn’t joke about that. That fuckin’ creep was going to rape us, I know it.
And I fuckin’ blame Sundance. Sending me in there on my jack. Or as near as damn it. Fuckin’ Hunter should’ve been there too.
No, I need to take that prick down a peg or two. Time to concoct a fuckin’ long firm against Sundance, something he won’t see coming.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Without the following, this book wouldn’t exist:
Development Editing
Allan Guthrie
Procedural Analysis
James Mackay
Copy Editing
Allan Guthrie, Kitty Harrison
Proofing
John Rickards
As ever, infinite thanks to Kitty for putting up with me and all of my nonsense.
CULLEN & BAIN WILL RETURN IN
“WORLD’S END”
June 1st 2020
Pre-order now
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The next book in the series is on pre-order now — keep reading to the end of this book for a sneak preview. You can buy a copy at Amazon.
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SEE ANOTHER SIDE OF SCOTT CULLEN IN
“MISSING”
Out now!
Cullen features heavily in MISSING, a police procedural comedy thriller starring Craig Hunter, ex-soldier and ex-CID, now back in uniform.
It’s out now and you can get a copy at Amazon.
OTHER BOOKS BY ED JAMES
SCOTT CULLEN MYSTERIES SERIES
GHOST IN THE MACHINE
DEVIL IN THE DETAIL
FIRE IN THE BLOOD
STAB IN THE DARK
COPS & ROBBERS
LIARS & THIEVES
COWBOYS & INDIANS
HEROES & VILLAINS
CULLEN & BAIN NOVELLAS
CITY OF THE DEAD
WORLD’S END
CRAIG HUNTER SERIES
MISSING
HUNTED
THE BLACK ISLE
DS VICKY DODDS
TOOTH & CLAW
DI SIMON FENCHURCH SERIES
THE HOPE THAT KILLS
WORTH KILLING FOR
WHAT DOESN’T KILL YOU
IN FOR THE KILL
KILL WITH KINDNESS
KILL THE MESSENGER
MAX CARTER SERIES
TELL ME LIES
SUPERNATURE SERIES
BAD BLOOD
COLD BLOOD
WORLD’S END
EXCERPT
PROLOGUE
His whole body shivering and shaking in the freezing darkness, Adam stuck his key in the lock and twisted it. But it didn’t open. He cursed under his breath, ‘Bloody head office. Too cheap to pay for a proper electronic lock system.’ Every day, Adam saw how cheap they were, but hey it’s a job. He tried the key again and the door opened this time. No rhyme or reason to it. He took a deep breath and stepped inside the supermarket. The lights flickered on, lifting the gloom on the breezeblock walls. But not by much.
The place was absolutely boiling, like the heater had been working ten to the dozen all night. He just knew he was going to lose a couple of hours trying
to get the standard-rate boiler repair guy down to Edinburgh from all the way up in Crieff. Yet more cheapness from Head Office.
And there was a stale smell, like someone had left a packet of steak mince out all night. Or a whole cage of it. If there’s one thing Adam knew, it was people leaving packets of meat out all night. Bane of his effing life. He could picture fifty packets of mince browning and going all slimy.
‘Hold the door!’ Keith Ross was rushing down the street, his boots clumping off the frosty pavement, but he was a good three stone too heavy to keep that pace up for long. Not with his knees. He stopped, hard breath puffing in the freezing air outside, his belly hanging out of his “NO CHEMTRAILS” T-shirt. Adam got a waft of dope, a tell-tale sign of yet another night on the hash bowls. At least he was wearing his official Ashworth’s jacket. ‘Cheers, boss. Couldn’t find my key this morning.[ This is how the killer got in]’
Adam locked the door behind him with a sigh. ‘You need to stop forgetting your key. You live in Clermiston, we’re in Morningside. Meaning two buses, especially at this hour. Meaning that if I insisted you went back home to collect that key—which is company property lest you forget—then I’ll lose my cleaner for an hour. The hour which is the only time during the day you can do any real cleaning.’
‘You seriously want me to do that?’
‘No, I of course I don’t.’
‘No biggie, though.’ Keith smiled at him. ‘You’re always here, bud. Or there’s young Phil.’
‘What if Phil forgets his key and I’ve got the dentist?’
‘At half six in the morning?’ Keith’s face twisted up. Cynical bastard was always trying to prick holes in stuff. But his face brightened. ‘Listen, if I quit, you’ll never find anyone as cheap as me.’
