Hell's Kitchen (Cullen & Bain Book 3)

by Ed James

  Cullen rang the bell mounted on the middle of a posh-looking door, the same blue as the garage.

  A shape appeared through the glass, walking towards them. The door opened to a crack and a woman frowned out at Cullen. ‘Inspector?’

  It took Cullen a couple of seconds to place her. Then it clicked. The nurse who had tested Cullen at the ERI. ‘Apinya?’

  ‘Right.’ She smiled and, without being covered in PPE, her smile was infectious. ‘What’s this about?’

  ‘I gather your car was stolen?’

  ‘You’ve found it?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘Like that, is it?’ She was holding a baby, hugging it tight, smoothing its back. ‘Feeding time. Come in, then.’ She turned and walked into the house.

  Cullen gestured for Evie to go first, then followed her inside.

  The place was beautiful and looked ready for a sale viewing. Off-white walls, with beige-painted panelling running halfway up, and a few elegant photos perfectly placed along the hallway. The engineered flooring didn’t crack and grind with each footprint, unlike in Cullen’s flat.

  Apinya led them into a sitting room, with two lime-green sofas at right angles opposite a wall-mounted TV above an ancient fireplace. A fancy soundbar sat on top, playing some whale sound stuff. She held up the baby, gripping under its arms. ‘This is Kelya, my daughter.’

  Evie frowned at the kid. ‘She’s hella cute.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘So about the car, where—’

  ‘Look, I meant to call back in. I couldn’t find the spare key the other day. Had to take my husband’s.’ Apinya frowned. ‘You do know who I am, right?’

  That sign outside wasn’t a coincidence. ‘You’re Mrs Bain?’

  ‘I didn’t take his name, but yes, Brian Bain is my husband. I’m Apinya Saelim. In Thailand, we didn’t have surnames until like the twentieth century, so it’s kind of a thing to keep them.’

  ‘I see.’ Cullen perched on the edge of a settee, but felt his eyebrows shoot up. ‘I didn’t know you had a daughter.’

  ‘That’s Brian for you.’

  ‘He doesn’t talk much about his home life.’

  ‘And with good reason.’ Apinya smiled again, but her look quickly darkened. ‘He told me you were spreading a rumour that he bought me from a mail order catalogue and that I may have male genitalia?’

  Cullen raised his hands, palms outwards. ‘Sorry, no.’ He caught a glare from Evie, then let out a sigh. ‘Okay. Look, I was just winding him up.’ He was blushing, could feel it in his cheeks. ‘You need to understand what it’s like—’

  ‘Scott, I’m fully aware of Brian’s shortcomings. He gets under people’s skin. But his heart’s in the right place. And I see a side of him nobody else does.’ She cast her gaze to Evie then back to Cullen, then smiled again. ‘And I know all about you, Scott.’

  ‘From Brian’s perspective.’

  ‘Maybe, but he’s a good judge of character.’

  Not really what Cullen would say about him. ‘Look, I’m sorry about that stuff. It’s insensitive and I—’

  ‘It’s fine. But I don’t think you know the real Brian. He’s a sweet, kind man.’

  ‘Feel like I’m in the wrong house here.’

  ‘I’m serious. I know what you’re thinking, though. When we first met, I thought he was a boorish pig. My friend Danielle brought me on one of those double dates that aren’t double dates. Her and her boyfriend, Paul, and he brought along Brian.’

  ‘Wait, Paul Gordon?’

  ‘Elvis, as you call him.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘But yeah, Danielle worked in my parents’ restaurant with me. Both waitresses and we stayed in touch when we went to uni. That first night, Brian was full of “eff” this and calling everyone nicknames, but I called him out on that nonsense. Got through to the real Brian Bain. And we fell in love.’ She picked up Kelya and bounced her on her knees. ‘I didn’t think I could have kids, but two missed periods and this wee thing just showed up…’

  ‘Congratulations.’

  ‘It’s a nightmare.’ Apinya laughed. ‘Both of us work full-time, so I have to rely on my parents a bit too much, you know?’ She looked into his eyes. ‘Brian went off the reservation by going to America, right? That’s why you’re here? Brian and Paul are trying to get their podcast off the ground. They’ve started making good money from it. Hopefully I can go part-time soon. Maybe pay off a big chunk of this mortgage too.’

  ‘You know he didn’t get that time off approved, right?’

  Apinya looked up at the ceiling. ‘I didn’t, no.’

  ‘Listen, the reason we’re here is your car was spotted outside John Bain’s home and—’

  ‘Brian’s father…’ She pecked Kelya on the forehead. ‘I swear, dealing with John is like having another child. This used to be his house. Seven generations of Bains have lived here. Brian and I bought it off him after his mum died. John wasn’t coping and we tried to help him, but he needed supervision. Trouble is, John is a Bain. He’s stubborn as they come.’

  ‘I know all about that.’

  ‘But my car was outside his house?’

  Cullen sat forward on the chair. ‘We’re here because Kieron escaped from prison.’

  ‘Oh my God.’

  ‘And Brian’s worried that you’d be a target, but it seems like Kieron’s taken Brian’s father. Could Kieron have got your car key from him?’

  Apinya shook her head. ‘Maybe. I’ve been taking Kelya to see John most days while Brian’s away. Brian usually goes, but I think it’s important to keep it up.’

  ‘Does John ever talk about Kieron?’

  ‘Brian won’t let him. Just shuts him up about it. I’ve tried getting him to open up about it, but it’s too raw for him.’

  ‘Did John talk to you about Kieron.’

  She bit her lip. ‘Yesterday, John said he spoke to… to his grandson. And he was worried about his mother.’

  ‘He say why?’

  ‘Not really. Has something happened to her?’

  Cullen glanced at Evie and gave her the slightest nod.

  Evie cleared her throat. ‘I’m afraid that Kieron’s mother is dead. We’ve just had it confirmed that the death was probably a murder, most likely poisoning.’

  ‘God. Now I think about it, John did mention something.’ Apinya ran a hand down her face. ‘According to John, Kieron was going on about his stepfather, the man his mother lived with after she left Brian.’

  Evie sat in the passenger seat, arms folded. ‘C-O-R-D-E-L-L. And Stephen with a PH.’

  ‘With you now.’ Keyboard sounds in the background. ‘Got results in West Lothian, Edinburgh, Fife and Midlothian. Want me to check Greater Glasgow?’

  Evie shut her eyes. ‘No. How many are you talking?’

  ‘Forty-odd.’

  ‘Great. Can you check for any previous addresses in Bathgate and Livingston?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Okay, just email me the whole list. Thanks.’ Evie ended the call and dumped her phone on the dashboard. ‘Well, isn’t that just grand?’

  ‘Isn’t it just?’ Cullen looked back at Bain’s house and had this horrible feeling that he could reach out and grab Cordell, but he was nowhere near. ‘Any way we can narrow it down?’

  Evie locked eyes with him. ‘Not without a ton of shoe leather. Our Stephen Cordell could be someone who isn’t even on that list.’

  ‘I know. So close, but so far.’

  ‘You okay, Scott?’

  ‘Not really.’ Cullen felt the itching in his scalp. ‘What was it Churchill said about Russia? A riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma? Even more applicable to Brian Bain. I can’t believe he didn’t tell me he had a daughter.’

  ‘You guys have worked together for a while, aye?’

  ‘Since 2011. You remember that case in a gym me and Craig did?’

  ‘Vaguely. I remember what happened that night more.’

  Cullen blushed.
r />   ‘Oh, don’t be so bashful, Mr Loverman. Took us a while, but we found each other, didn’t we?’

  ‘Right. Sure.’

  ‘Anyway, for nine years, he’s been a Bain in the arse?’

  Cullen winced. ‘Don’t give up the day job.’

  ‘Come on, that’s funny.’

  ‘Maybe, but I’m not in the mood. You think she let Kieron take her car?’

  ‘Maybe. Maybe not. But I’ve got an idea.’ Evie thumbed her phone screen again, then a ringing tone blasted out through the speakers. The display read Calling Lenny…

  ‘Lennox…’ A sigh rattled the speakers, so loud that Cullen had to reach over to turn the volume down. ‘What’s up, Yvonne?’

  ‘Have you spoken to his cellmate yet?’

  ‘Yup, and two other inmates so far. Nothing.’

  ‘Has anyone mentioned a Stephen Cordell?’

  Lennox paused. ‘Who’s he when he’s at home?’

  ‘The stepfather. Kieron might blame him for murdering his mother.’

  ‘Well, as you know, he didn’t name any names on the many, many calls we received. And I doubt anyone in here will talk, even if he did blab to them.’

  ‘Okay.’ But Cullen was running out of options here. ‘Anything from Deeley yet?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, I got a missed call. He’s left a voicemail. Back in a sec.’ The line muted, then started beeping.

  Cullen looked over. ‘How do you cope working for this clown?’

  ‘Drink.’

  ‘Okay…’ Lennox was back. Sounded like he was outside somewhere and near a building site. ‘Just listened to Deeley’s voicemail. Boy, he can rabbit on, can’t he? Hold on a sec.’

  The line paused again.

  Then a blast of static. Sounded like someone was driving. ‘Terry, I swear, if you do that again…’ Deeley.

  ‘Jimmy, you’re on with Scott and Yvonne.’

  ‘Right. And let me guess, you didn’t bother listening to my voicemail?’

  ‘Better to get it from the horse’s mouth.’

  Deeley laughed. ‘Okay, long and short of it is we’ve run the blood toxicology and it appears that she’s been poisoned with chloroquine phosphate.’

  Cullen locked eyes with Evie. ‘The main ingredient of those anti-5G pills Keith Ross was selling.’

  ‘Who the hell is Keith Ross?’

  ‘Never mind.’ Cullen gritted his teeth. ‘Terry, is Angela Caldwell still with you?’

  ‘She’s inside, but aye.’

  ‘Ask her about the pills. Okay. Keep your phone on. Thanks, Jimmy.’ Cullen got out his own phone and called Lauren Reid.

  The dashboard sound changed from Lennox’s mouth breathing to a windier sound. ‘Sir, I’m kind of busy now?’

  ‘First, don’t call me sir. And second, this is important. You’re on with Yvonne Flockhart.’

  ‘Hey, Lauren.’

  ‘Yeah, Yvonne. So what’s up?’

  Cullen leaned forward, like that would make any difference. ‘Look, I need you to speak to Keith Ross again and find out if he sold any of those pills to a Stephen Cordell.’

  ‘I mean, I would. Only, his lawyer’s just turned up and wants to unwind everything the idiot’s told us.’

  A perfect day just got even worse.

  ‘What has he told you?’

  ‘Well, he’s been naming all and sundry. People who’ve bought the pills off him, his supplier. That USB thing tipped him over the edge. He remortgaged to buy them.’

  ‘But he’s not mentioned a Stephen Cordell?’

  ‘No, but hang on. Charlie Kidd’s looking at his laptop.’ Sounded like Lauren was running along a corridor. Background muffled chat, including a harsh “fuck sake”. ‘You’re on with Charlie.’

  ‘Right, Scotty?’ Charlie’s Dundonian drone filled the line. Didn’t sound happy to speak to Cullen, but then he never did. ‘What am I looking for?’

  ‘The name Stephen Cordell.’

  Hard keyboard tapping filled the line. ‘Okay. Got an email receipt for one of those anti-5G dongles. Some shonky PayPal clone.’

  ‘Can you tell if Keith sent the package?’

  ‘Not that clear. Hang on.’ More typing. ‘Oh, just found the email trail. Looks like he hand-delivered it.’

  ‘You got an address?’

  22

  Bain

  I mean, fuck sake. We’d have been fucked without this boy. Would be looking for those pricks on the wrong side of the river. And now we know which one’s the right one.

  Holten’s driving us over Brooklyn Bridge. It’s a fuckton less impressive in person than on the telly. You can’t see fuck all because the daft bastards have put girders where the view should be. Fine if you’re walking over, I suppose, but all I can see is the East River foaming below us and a big shiny building that’s almost invisible against the sky. Fuckin’ useless.

  ‘Is that the Statue of Liberty?’ Elvis is in the back, nose pressed up against the glass like a wee kid.

  ‘Sure is.’ Holten thumbs over his shoulder. ‘You see those towers?’ He grins. ‘That’s Downtown.’

  ‘Right. Sure.’

  We’re coming in to land at the far side and it’s like getting the train into fuckin’ Newcastle. Unreal. Thousands of miles away and it’s the fuckin’ same as home.

  Old wharf buildings are still hanging around among these bigger, newer ones. Least Brooklyn doesn’t have the towers of Manhattan. Well, not that I can see through these big metal strut things.

  The drivers absolutely hammer it over here, I swear. No danger you’d get up to eighty within ten miles of Newcastle city centre. Holten’s barrelling into the right lane, the one to come off by the looks of it. Off-ramp, they call it, don’t they? And it looks like we’re coming off into central Glasgow.

  Forget Geordieland, I swear there’s fuckin’ Sauchiehall Street up there!

  Sure enough, Holten weaves us through some pretty thin traffic onto a ramp curving round to the right.

  There’s a boy on a motorbike up ahead with the stars and stripes on his leather jacket and Holten’s up his arse, then he shoots off left as the road splits. Looks like we’re not heading for the Expressway. I-278 according to the sign.

  And all of a sudden we’re out into an urban landscape. Big wide avenues with towers up ahead and loads of trees on either side.

  Holten pulls a cheeky one and sneaks through a red light, then parks behind an ice cream van that looks abandoned.

  One of those iconic buildings up ahead, curved brick windows and that. Probably call them lofts or brownstones or Christ knows what.

  ‘Okay.’ Holten kills the engine and eases off his shades again. ‘The mayor’s started a huge-ass crackdown on gangs raiding PPE from ambulances, so I know a shitload about them. And those guys you chased? They’re in there.’

  Across the road, there’s this big fuck-off tower. Concrete and brick thing with six windows to a floor, with an air-conditioning unit sitting below each one. Can’t even see the top from over here.

  ‘Those dudes? They’re a sort of anti-Wall Street thing. Not quite Antifa, but not far off.’

  Give him a nod. ‘So they’re squatting?’

  ‘Whatever that means.’

  ‘Means they’re…’ Fuck it, no time. I hand the CCTV print again. ‘Who is this boy?’

  ‘Dude calls himself Elrond.’

  Elvis pops his head between us. ‘Like the elf boy in Lord of the Rings?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘They armed?’

  ‘Would I let you go within five miles if I thought they were?’ Holten laughs. ‘Not guns, no. But watch out for knives.’ He looks over at me. ‘I can’t go in, you understand that, right? But I’ll wait here for you.’

  ‘No offer of a throwaway gun?’

  ‘Just get in and out. I’m not here.’

  Not that I know how to shoot one. ‘Just tell us the floor and I’ll crack the boy’s skull.’

  ‘Third floor. And the power’s
been cut, so the elevator won’t work. One set of stairs. And please, don’t crack any skulls.’

  Elvis points out of the window. ‘That can’t be the Empire State Building over there, can it?’

  ‘Focus!’ I grab the door handle and my heart’s fuckin’ pounding in my chest. ‘And it’s the wrong fuckin’ part of the city for it, you cretin. Need to be on that other bridge to see it.’

  Am I really going to do this? Raid a bunch of Antifa bams to get back my passport?

  Fuck it, it’s not like I’ve got a choice here.

  ‘Come on.’ I ease the door open and step through.

  It’s like party central up here. All the apartment doors are hanging open. While Holten thinks they’ve shut off the power to the lifts, these boys have got some juice going into the flats. Like that fancy hi-fi I’ve got, the music is playing from all the rooms at the same time. And it’s fuckin’ pish. All deep booms and thin hi-hats going ten to the fuckin’ dozen. What happened to music? When did it get shite?

  Place reeks of dope like a student halls of residence. So they’re all pretty cool, sitting around and chatting, nodding to some beat in the music that I can’t for the life of me figure out.

  Big pair of dudes are hanging out by the nearest doorway, hands in pockets. Could be brothers. ‘Yo?’

  I nod at the guy. ‘Looking for Elrond.’ Best John Wayne accent again, so there’s no ambiguity here.

  ‘What you want to speak to him about?’

  Acting all sussed here, as they’d say on the streets. ‘Got some info for him.’

  ‘You five-oh?’

  ‘I’m forty-five. Do I look that old?’

  ‘I mean are you a cop. Five-oh, man.’

  ‘Am I a cop?’ I laugh and slap the big bastard’s chest. Fuck, it’s like a wall of granite. ‘Hell no. Don’t you know who I am?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Name’s Billy. Of the Crafty Butcher podcast.’

  ‘Podcast. Right.’

  ‘And I’m passing on some info about the cops.’ I sniff, giving us a wee break. ‘And maybe get some… material from him.’

  Dude frowns at us. ‘Material?’

  ‘Protective equipment. Masks, goggles, gloves.’