Hell's Kitchen (Cullen & Bain Book 3)

by Ed James

  ‘What?’

  ‘There’s no sign of your old man, and Kieron’s escaped. You want help putting two and two together?’

  And as if this couldn’t get any fuckin’ worse. ‘Why the fuck would he kidnap my old boy?’

  ‘There’s something I haven’t told you.’ Another sigh down the line. ‘Brian, Diane is dead.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your ex-wife, Kieron’s moth—’

  ‘I know who she fuckin’ is! What’s happened to her?’

  Elvis is frowning at us now.

  ‘Sorry, Brian. We think she’s been poisoned.’

  And it hits us like a fuckin’ shovel in the gob. Followed by a clawhammer in the baws. Have to steady myself on the bonnet of this motor.

  ‘She’s dead?’ I let out a deep breath. ‘I hadn’t heard.’

  ‘Sorry to break it to you like this.’

  ‘Ah fuck.’ Hits us like a sledgehammer in the plums.

  Fuck sake. All those times I’ve been on the other side of this coin and I thought the family of the victims acted fuckin’ weird. Now it’s me and I’m falling to fuckin’ pieces here!

  ‘Has Kieron killed her?’

  ‘He’s been calling Livingston MIT. He thinks someone has killed her. Didn’t say who.’

  ‘Have they done a post mortem?’

  ‘Deeley’s checking it tomorrow to confirm if she was poisoned.’

  ‘In the name of the wee man…’

  ‘Is it possible Kieron thinks your dad murdered her?’

  Takes us a few seconds to unpick his words there. One thing about Sundance, his brain’s a lot quicker than his mouth. ‘Aye, Scott. It’s possible Kieron thinks my old man killed my ex-wife. Diane used to see the old boy every couple of weeks. Poisoning’s a fuckin’ coward’s game. And it’s all my old man’s capable of.’

  ‘Do you have any idea where Kieron would go?’

  ‘You expect me to know where that wee fuckbag would go?’ Fuck sake. I’ve got to get home, got to sort this out. But I’m so fuckin’ far from being able to do that. Only option here is to help that fanny Sundance catch my fuckin’ son before he kills my old man!

  ‘Is there anyone on Diane’s side who—?’

  ‘I lost touch with that side of the family when we divorced.’

  ‘Did she remarry?’

  ‘Aye, I think so. Maybe not remarried remarried, but there was a felly. No idea about his name or anything.’

  ‘Okay. That’s something we can look into.’

  I feel some tears straining at my throat here. This has got the shite up my back, I tell you. ‘Please, Sun— Scott, I’m begging you. Find Kieron for me.’

  ‘I’m trying, but—’

  ‘What’s the warden saying?’

  ‘The warden?’

  ‘Christ, he lives in a sheltered housing place! Find the warden!’

  ‘Okay. Thanks.’ And he’s gone.

  I sit back on the bonnet of this motor and rub at my eyes. ‘This just gets more and more fucked.’

  Elvis still hasn’t crossed the threshold of the motor. ‘What was that?’

  ‘I can’t even…’ And I can’t. Voicing it is… Christ. ‘Still no idea how to get my passport back. And I’ve got to get home because my scumbag son is going to murder my old man and this is all so fucked.’

  Elvis smiles at us. ‘You want to get a beer?’

  ‘Do I fuck!’

  As much as I could do with getting so fuckin’ twatted that this whole thing turns out to be a dream, trying to deal with all this shite when the fuckin’ Onion Man is whispering those sweet somethings of his into my ear? Fuck that.

  ‘We need to get my passport back.’ I put my phone in my pocket and touch something.

  Wait a sec. I take it out and it’s that cop’s business card.

  Charles Holten.

  Sing ho-fuckin’-sanna!

  19

  Cullen

  Gordon Jackson looked as run down as the sheltered housing he managed, and not much older. He looked barely twenty, but had deep rings under his eyes like he’d never slept in his life. His shaved head was somehow sunburnt, though it was surely months too early for it to have come from the sun. But the rest of his face had escaped that fate so it was unlikely to be from a bed. Weird. He shook his head. ‘I mean, that boy should be in a care home. This is for reasonably independent people.’

  Cullen sat in a chair, almost knee to knee with Jackson and Evie. The cramped office somehow had a faint muddy smell, though he couldn’t place it. Shelves on three walls, filled with various knick-knacks, including one devoted to those metal-faced plug-in kettles that’d burn your hand as soon as you switched it on. Presumably they were broken and awaiting fixing. ‘You talk to anyone about putting him in a care home?’

  ‘Well, I keep saying it to his son, but he’s bloody useless. Doesn’t listen to anything. And his swearing…’

  Cullen could just imagine those words falling on deaf ears. Or being drowned by a whole shitload of F-bombs. ‘What did he say about it?’

  ‘I think he’s in denial, to be honest.’ Jackson looked out of the window in the direction of John Bain’s tiny flat. ‘They both are. I mean, part of the covenant of being here is that you’re supposed to be able to look after yourself.’

  ‘And Mr Bain can’t?’

  ‘Dr Bain. And no, he needs a mobility scooter to get around. Lucky he’s in a ground-floor flat here, but I can’t remember seeing him on the blessed thing.’

  ‘What was he like when he arrived?’

  ‘Better. It’s been a slow decline. His son was looking after him, but he couldn’t cope with it. He promised to look after him in here, get him fed and all that, but his heart’s just not in it. Boy shows up every Sunday with a couple of boxes of the cheapest ready meals, some bread and a few bottles of whisky. I mean…’

  ‘Anyone else visit?’

  ‘Well, the son’s partner. Can’t remember the name. The…’ Jackson frowned at Evie, then leaned in to Cullen. ‘I don’t know what the PC term is, but do you say Asian? Oriental? Whatever the right term is.’

  ‘Okay.’ Cullen thought back to the ribbing Bain had soaked up about his wife’s Thai heritage. Still, this was the first person he’d met who’d actually seen her. ‘What about his grandson, Kieron?’

  Jackson frowned. ‘He’s the one who’s inside, aye?’

  ‘If by “inside” you mean prison, then yes. And I’m not aware of him having any other grandchildren.’

  ‘Oh, he’s got a wee girl, barely a year old.’

  ‘Wait, what?’

  Jackson was nodding. ‘Kelya, I think her name is. Keeps talking about her.’

  Jesus Christ. If that was true, Bain had been keeping the secret of having a daughter from Cullen. Who else knew?

  And he couldn’t be distracted by this. ‘But John does talk to Kieron?’

  ‘Son got him a mobile at Christmas and he’s never off the thing. All those free minutes have been a lifesaver to him, but I’d hate to pay his phone bill once those are up.’

  ‘So, I’ve got a case of a missing pensioner who is immobile, and a jailbird grandson. Any ideas?’

  Jackson frowned for a few seconds, tapping his foot off the floor. ‘There was someone here asking for him.’

  ‘What did he look like?’

  ‘Just a sec.’ Jackson pulled out a heavy-duty laptop from a shelf. Looked brand-new, and pretty expensive. Green and blue lights flashed across the back as he jabbed a finger across the trackpad. ‘Here you go.’ He swivelled the machine round.

  The screen was really bright, like staring into the sun, so Cullen reached over and turned it down a notch. The black-and-white footage showed the outside of the building, overlooking the car park. The time clock read just over an hour ago.

  A mid-grey Fiat 500 pulled up and sat there for over a minute on quadruple speed, with the engine pluming in the cold late afternoon. Whoever it was, they were casing the place and taking their time d
oing it.

  The sort of thing a cop would do.

  The door jerked open and Cullen paused it. Hard to get a good view of the man, no matter how slowly he clicked through the individual frames, which seemed to be captured every three seconds, until the man was inside.

  Cullen tried to overlay his memory of Keiron Bain, as a pimply young cop, but this man was much bulkier. Then again, a lot of free time in prison. Wouldn’t be the first to build serious muscle in there.

  ‘The lad wasn’t here that long.’ Jackson reached over, like he was annoyed someone else was using his pride and joy, and skipped it forward just over nine minutes.

  The ground-floor door opened again and a man was wheeled out. Cullen paused to get a good look. He was an older version of DS Brian Bain, his beard longer, his hair a lot more straggly, but he had the same reptilian look about him. The same hostility to the rest of the world.

  A few frames on and his companion walked out. Prison had aged Kieron badly. Cullen had last seen him when he was nineteen and now, seven and a half years later, he’d taken on his father’s grey pallor, though he had escaped the baldness for now. He rushed over to the car and helped his grandfather in the back.

  One final look and he got in the front. Seconds later, the grey Fiat whizzed off.

  And they had the plates.

  Turned out the Fiat was baby blue. And was now on fire. Even at this distance, the flames still burnt at Cullen’s skin, so he had to step away.

  Still, they were lucky to find it. A back road to a back road that just so happened to have two number plate cameras either side of the entrance.

  ‘Smart move.’ Evie was standing by their open passenger door like she was using it to shield herself from the heat. ‘The amount of product you pour on your hair every morning, you’ll go up like a Roman candle if you get any closer.’

  Cullen didn’t quite believe her, but he didn’t want to chance it, so he retreated to a safer distance. ‘I’m not that bad, am I?’

  ‘You’re not that good, either.’ She waved her phone in the air. ‘The firies are on their way over.’

  Cullen looked back at the flames, then at the woods surrounding them. The car was in a clearing and it was damp enough that the fire was unlikely to spread. And it didn’t show many signs of it.

  Why collect your grandfather in a stolen car only to torch it?

  Was John Bain inside it?

  Cullen kept tilting his head to the side, but all five seats looked empty. The boot was popped too, either left that way or forced open by the heat. And Cullen would have recognised the telltale bacon smell of burning human flesh and hair.

  So Kieron had taken him, then dumped the car. Where to next? Was he doing this to make John Bain suffer even more?

  But where? John Bain wasn’t exactly mobile, even in that scooter. Had to be nearby, or he had to have got in another vehicle. Not that an escaped prisoner could easily get hold of one. And yet he had.

  Cullen sat behind the wheel and slumped back. ‘Have you spoken to the owner?’

  Evie nodded. ‘Nurse at ERI. Stolen from the car park outside.’

  Cullen looked around again. It was getting dark. ‘We’re in the arse end of nowhere here. Where the hell has he gone?’

  ‘Worth visiting that nurse?’

  20

  Bain

  This big fuck-off SUV slides in behind Art’s plague-infested motor and Charles Holten gets out the driver side. Dressed in his civvies, wearing one of those coats with wee fuckin’ tags on the shoulders and he looks even bigger than in uniform. He strides over to us and takes his specs off. Narrowed eyes scan me and Elvis. ‘Guys, you need to listen to me. Forget about getting your passport back from them.’

  I shake my head at the boy. ‘Mate, I can’t.’

  ‘Seriously. Those guys are—’

  ‘Please.’

  He huffs out a sigh just like Sundance would. Two sighing brothers separated by an ocean. ‘You should write it off. Get over to the consulate, plead and beg to get a passport today, then catch your flight home to England.’

  Fuckin’ England. ‘Been on to them, pal. Say it’s going to be two days minimum. The world’s going to shite, so I doubt it’s going to be that.’

  ‘Yeah, so maybe you shouldn’t have flown to Seattle and driven across this country.’

  ‘How did you know about that?’

  ‘One of the dudes in my precinct is a fan of your podcast.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Boyle’s a big podcast guy, but yours is top of his list. Had tickets for your show too.’ Holten frowns. ‘Asked me to ask you what a “jing” was.’

  ‘A jing? You’re asking me about a—’

  Elvis steps between us. ‘Charlie boy, “jings” is an expression of surprise. And the whole thing is Brian’s laboured pun on the Paul McCartney and Wings live album “Jings Across America”. But it’s nice to know our fanbase extends to the NYPD.’

  Holten nods, but still doesn’t smile. Cool as a fuckin’ cucumber. ‘Anyway, in my opinion, you shouldn’t try and get it back. Your passport’s gone.’

  ‘Listen, pal. I fuckin’ need it. My old man’s in the shite back in Scotland and my jailbird son’s on the fuckin’ warpath and I need to get home and sort all this shite out. Please.’

  He’s looking at us, head tilted to the side. Looks like he might cave, actually.

  ‘You know where they’re based, don’t you?’

  Another Cullen sigh. ‘Seriously. I’ll drive you to the consulate now. It’s not far.’

  And right then, my mobile blasts out. And it’s his brother in sighing. I hold up a finger and step away. My heart’s fuckin’ pounding here. ‘Have you found him?’

  ‘Sorry, no.’

  ‘Fuckin’ great. So I need to get over there and—’

  ‘Kieron took him. And we’ve found the car, but it’s burnt out.’

  ‘Shite.’ Fuckin’ mallets smashing against my spine, I swear. ‘Was my old man in it?’

  ‘Hard to tell.’ Can hear sirens in the background.

  ‘Fuck.’

  ‘Look, I’m not an expert and the fire brigade are just about here, but it looks like he wasn’t in the car.’

  ‘And that’s supposed to be a relief, is it?’

  ‘Brian, we really need to find Kieron. Anything you can—’

  ‘Scott, I’m in the middle of hell here. Some wee toerag’s stolen my passport and we’re fuckin’ stuck here. The consulate’s fuckin’ me over and…’

  ‘Brian, we found the car just off the A801. A little back road that leads into the woods.’

  ‘Near Bathgate?’

  ‘Not far, aye. Go under the M8 and it’s next right.’

  ‘Shite.’ Got it. Fuckin’ got it! ‘He’s going for my wife!’

  ‘Your Thai bride?’

  And that professional demeanour slips to reveal the snide cunt underneath. Scott fuckin’ Cullen, never a million miles away from making a stupid joke.

  ‘Jesus, Scott. Really?’ Some bird in the background giving him what fuckin’ for.

  Sundance sighs yet a-fuckin’-gain. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean that.’

  ‘Scott, that’s just round the corner from my gaff. If he’s got the old boy in his scooter, he could walk over there. Please, it might be nothing but can you go there?’

  ‘Okay.’

  I let out my own Sundance-sized sigh. ‘Thanks. I’ll text you the address.’ I end the call and press the screen in hopefully the right places. Postcode, house number and loose description. “Big old place set behind walls.” Fuckin’ send.

  And I’m still stuck here. Fuck sake!

  Holten’s frowning at Elvis. ‘Why is he called Billy on the show when his name’s Brian?’

  ‘Now that, my friend, is a long story. The main reason is to hide the fact we’re both cops, right. As for Billy. Well. You ever heard of William of Orange?’

  ‘William of who?’

  ‘Okay, then, we need to saddle up
and—’

  ‘Fuck this. I need to get that passport.’

  They both look at me. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Think the wee cunt is going for my wife.’

  Holten looks at Elvis, and it’s like something passes between them, some life force or whatever. Then he’s looking back at me. ‘Okay, buddy, we got you. Me and Paul here. We got your back.’

  ‘So you’re going to help me?’

  ‘Not as a cop, but as much as I can as a human being.’

  I hand him the CCTV print from the hotel. ‘And your cop half knows where this gang’s based, right?’

  21

  Cullen

  Evie pulled in across the road from the nurse’s address and switched off the engine, but didn’t look like she was in any hurry to get out. ‘You think Kieron’s here?’

  ‘Maybe. He had to have a getaway from the hospital.’

  ‘Okay, let’s see what she knows.’

  Cullen opened his door and put his right foot down. ‘Aside from this being a murder, it’s good working with you again.’

  ‘It’s very different, Scott. Just promise me you won’t do anything stupid.’

  Cullen raised his hands. ‘I’m a changed man.’

  She pursed her lips. ‘Promise.’

  ‘I won’t do anything stupid.’ Cullen got out and walked over. A paved drive led to an old stone cottage. He stopped dead.

  “Bain House” was mounted into low stone walls, above open wrought iron gates.

  ‘Seriously?’ Cullen had to check the text again. ‘Right number, right street. Didn’t mention a name, though.’ He sighed. ‘Bain House? Really?’

  ‘Hope this is just a co-inky-dink.’ She stepped through the gate and crossed the long drive, wide lawns on either side. Baby blue garage door that would’ve matched the car’s colour before it was torched. A large modern extension out the back, which must’ve more than doubled the size of the house. Maybe even trebled it.

  ‘Some place.’