by Ed James
‘I had a lot of time for you, Craig.’
‘What happened to you, Jack?’
‘Saying nothing.’
‘See, I heard that you got chucked out. Next thing I know, a few years later and I’m a cop walking the beat in Portobello. And there you are, Jack. Living on the beach in a tent. With two women.’
‘And you’ve got them, haven’t you? Mary and Katie. Stuck microchips in them! Programmed them to divulge all my secrets!’
‘They’re in rehab, Jack. Mary’s living with her parents again. It’s been tough for her, after that car accident, but she’s getting through the trauma.’
Jack just growled.
‘And after that, we kept on bumping into each other when I was in uniform, didn’t we? Until I got this job.’ Hunter tugged at his suit, way too tight but he had three-hundred-kilo deadlifts four times a week to thank for that bulk. Hundreds of burpees a day. And a ridiculous diet. ‘What happened to you? What made you give up your life to do this?’
‘Sure you want to know?’
‘Of course I do, Jack. I’ve got my own scars.’ Hunter felt something wash over him again. Stars pricked his vision. And worse — he was running down a hill, somewhere hot and dusty, gunshots ringing out.
One.
Two.
Three.
He knew exactly where it was.
Four.
Five.
Six.
He didn’t want to think about what happened next.
Seven.
Eight.
He never wanted to think about that time. Never again.
Nine.
Ten.
And he was back in the room.
Jack’s infection smell.
Shepherd’s cologne.
His own deodorant. The taste of instant coffee still on his lips.
Aye, he didn’t want to go back there.
Hunter had a full-on flashback when he’d seen Jack earlier on the promenade. Almost killed Cullen when he snapped him back to reality. He needed to tread carefully here. ‘Jack, what happened to you?’
‘Like you care, you creepy son of a bitch.’
Hunter leaned forward on his elbows. ‘I care a great deal, Jack. Try me.’
Spittle flew from Jack’s mouth. ‘You really want to know about my life?’
‘Aye, Jack. Everything.’
‘Don’t believe you.’
‘Jonathan Braithwaite was a good guy. What happened to him?’
‘That NAME.’ Jack shut his eyes, clamping them tight. ‘In Iraq, would be your first tour. Young grunt, skin and bone weren’t you? Well, mind when we had a run out to the desert on foot?’
Hunter could taste the dry heat of the air. ‘Aye, I remember.’
‘Thing was, we were out there, the three of us. You, me, Terry and that boy Mowat. We were doing a recce, right? Scout the land from up on that hill.’
Hunter could see the rise now, that smooth curve. He could taste the sand in the air, feel the heat on his skin, the sweat on his forehead. Hear the muffled screaming.
‘Mind we could hear this sound? All of us searching for it.’ Jack leaned forward and breathed petrol over them. ‘But that wee daft sod, young Mowat, he tripped on this thing. Terry clocked it first. A handle. It wasn’t a hill. It was a doorway. And we went down, Craig, didn’t we?’
Hunter felt the warm metal of the ladder in his hands, even in this cold room. Like he was back there. No, he was back there. He could taste the incense hanging in the air before he smelled it.
‘It was this warlord’s personal harem, wasn’t it? He had these lassies down there. Twenty, thirty. And they were really suffering at this boy’s hands. Strapped down on big, big beds, while his mates… fucked them. Sickening, it was. Absolutely sickening.’
Hunter could hear the grunts, the moans, the muffled screams. The sound that got them searching, that lured them inside. The shock as Terry shot two of the guards with his pistol, both through the head. Bang, bang. Then Hunter and Mowat leaping into action to catch the other two before they could flee, or before Terry shot them. ‘I remember it like it was yesterday.’
‘Well, Craig, that is what happened to make me leave. Those women. I could see the suffering. We spoke to the lassies, some of them even spoke English, but I have the gift of many languages. They were all from difficult backgrounds across that great nation. But they were all exploited by men who were supposed to look after them. They were all kept in an UNDERGROUND BUNKER WHILE MEN RAPED THEM!’ Jack’s voice rattled around the room. ‘And we took him down, our friendly neighbourhood warlord, didn’t we? But he came back as a politician, didn’t he?’ He snarled. ‘Can never keep a bad man down, Craig. And I just wanted to make these women happy.’
‘By getting them hooked on smack?’
Jack laughed. ‘Craig, my man, you just don’t get it. When I meet them, they’re already on it. A cop like you, you should know the stats. Homeless women are much more likely to be on hard drugs than men.’
‘Okay, but what are you doing for them?’
‘I’m getting them good stuff, Craig. Not sharing needles. Not injecting rat poison. Keeping them safe.’
‘Thing is, the heroin you’ve been giving them has resulted in two of them being hospitalised.’
Jack frowned.
‘Ah, shite. Why?’
‘Overdosing on heroin will tend to do that to someone.’
‘You’re still lying to me.’
‘No, Jack. I’m not. Those four women you were with, though, two of them are in hospital, dying. And the other two are really toiling. Touch and go whether they need to be admitted to hospital as well. And while you might be okay, we can’t speak to them.’ Hunter sat back, arms folded. He could lie to Jack, see where it got to. Ah, sod it — it’s worth it. ‘Probably won’t get to them before they die.’
‘Ah, shite almighty.’
‘We need to—’
‘You’re lying.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘You’re lying to me, Craig.’
But the lie was getting him somewhere. He was shocked by it. As hard as it was to openly lie like this, sometimes the ends really did justify the means. ‘It’s the truth, Jack. We need to know where the heroin comes from. Stop others suffering the same fate.’
Jack stared at him for a few seconds, then shook his head and stared at the wall behind Hunter.
The door opened and Scott Cullen peered in, his face chiselled with designer stubble. He nodded at Hunter, then Shepherd.
Hunter leaned forward. ‘Interview suspended.’ He hit pause and stood up. ‘Be back in a minute, Jack.’
‘No worries, son.’ Happy Jack was back, banishing Jonathan Braithwaite to history.
Hunter followed Shepherd out of the room, hoping he could bring Jonathan back when he needed to.
Cullen was leaning against the wall, kicking his free foot back to rest on the paint. ‘Sorry, chaps, but what he just said, it checks out with what Yule said.’
Hunter smirked at Cullen. ‘Yule, aye?’
Cullen shrugged. ‘Dr Helen Yule, aye. What of it?’
‘Scott, don’t tell me you—’
‘Shh.’ Cullen put a finger to his lips. ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell.’ He sniffed. ‘Dr Yule reckons both wives are on heroin.’ He swallowed. ‘They, uh, delivered their packages.’
As gross as it was, Hunter felt some amusement at the thought of Cullen waiting for them to drop their guts. ‘Aye?’
‘Had to deliver the contents,’ Cullen covered his mouth with a fist, ‘to the drug squad, who told me to await their input. Told us to speak to a Chantal Jain in the drugs squad about it.’
‘Okay.’ Shepherd got out his phone. ‘I know Chantal. I’ll give her a bell. You two get in there and see if you can get the name of a dealer.’ He wandered off down the corridor.
Hunter put a hand on the door but didn’t open it. ‘Thought you were playing hard to get with Helen, Scott?’
Cullen
seemed to grimace, but like most things with him, there were whole volumes unspoken in that sigh. ‘Hard to when she’s looking after your case for you, eh?’
‘Suppose so.’
‘But I’m not, Craig.’ Cullen was looking right at him. ‘I’ve been trying to phone her and she wasn’t answering. Turns out I had the wrong number.’
Hunter laughed. ‘You daft sod.’
Cullen was scratching his neck now.
Hunter held the door open for him. There was something there, a whole book unspoken. A whole saga. But Hunter didn’t know if he was the guy to get it out of him. ‘Get things running again, would you?’
‘Sure.’ Cullen entered the room and started things up again.
Hunter stayed, barely listening, just trying to make sure he wasn’t back in that roasting metal container in the desert.
The smells of sweat and oil.
The grunting.
The screaming.
The ominous feeling of pain and hatred that seeped deep into the sand.
Hunter shook himself hard and sucked in a deep breath. ‘How are they doing, Scott?’
‘One’s pulling through. The other… Helen’s less sure.’
‘Okay.’ Hunter entered the room again and sat, locking eyes with Jack. A pathetic sight, his wild hair standing up on end. ‘Okay, so the update from the hospital is those two women are at death’s door, Jonathan.’
Another lie, but close enough to the truth.
Jack snarled. ‘Told you not to call me that.’
‘Aye, I know you did. And you think Jonathan Braithwaite died when you murdered said warlord-cum-politician. Well, fate isn’t so kind to you, Jonathan. You might think you’re Happy Jack, but you’re also ex-Staff Sergeant Jonathan Braithwaite. And Happy Jack is just as bad, probably worse. You keep saying about how you want these women to be happy, but you’re just supplying heroin to them, the drug that slowly kills them. Or quickly in this case. You’re keeping them addicted. Keeping them slaves to their traumas, just like back in—’
‘SHUT UP!’
Hunter had him rattled now. ‘How are you paying for it?’
‘None of your business.’
‘Thing is, me and Scott here were chasing down a witness who didn’t show in court today and we saw you and your friends all off your faces. Two of you were overdosing and we had to drive them to the ERI at breakneck speed to save their lives. So you can’t tell me it’s none of my business, Jonathan.’
‘Ignorant bastard.’
‘How am I ignorant?’
Jack sat back, shifting his oily gaze between Hunter and Cullen. ‘You’ve no idea, do you?’
‘Who is your dealer, Jack?’
‘My guy.’
‘Who is he?’
‘That’s it. My guy.’
‘Right. Jack, we need his name.’
‘Nope.’
‘It’s better if it comes from you. Tell us where you got the heroin. We’ll keep you out of jail. We’ll keep the RMP away from you.’
‘The RMP?’
‘Royal Military Police, Jack.’
‘I know what it stands for. Why?’
‘Well, for murdering an Afghan politician. We’ve got you on the record admitting to it. You got off with a dishonourable discharge only because they couldn’t get the charges to stick. Now you’ve confessed. Talk now, and we’ll keep quiet.’
‘No.’
‘That heroin is killing people, Jack.’ Hunter leaned forward again. ‘Your two wives are at the ERI just now. Don’t know their names. Maybe we’ll only find out when they die.’
Jack inspected his fingernails, but they were so chewed-down and grubby that he didn’t bite them. ‘Fine. He works at the gym.’
‘The gym?’
‘Rock Hard Gym.’
‘And his name?’
‘The Viper.’
Hunter sat back with a Cullen-sized sigh. ‘Stop it, Jack, or I swear to God, you’re spending the night in the cells.’
‘Craig, mate. The boy’s called the Viper. That’s all I have. No idea what his real name is. Seriously. I don’t lie.’
Show me a junkie who doesn’t…
7
Cullen
Hiding out in the Observation Suite meant avoiding the constant din of inane chatter from the interview room but, now the interview was over, the speakers were just playing back empty room sound. Well, almost empty. Just Happy Jack scratching himself on the screen. And something in the speakers made it compress and amplify the sound so it was like Cullen’s head was inside Happy Jack’s pants.
The best thing to do was to distract himself. His finger hovered over the 9 key, ready to tap it twice to get an x after the space. He tapped it and examined the message:
Good seeing you earlier. Sorry I’ve been such a dickhead. Thanks for the second chance x
Was that kiss too flirty?
Did it need another?
Should it be upper case?
He sat back, thinking it through. Was he doing the right thing? Sparing her feelings? Trying to conquer his past? His own trauma?
Christ. What a mess he was.
And the door opened.
Shite.
He hit send and put his phone away.
But it was just Hunter. ‘Scott?’
‘Craig.’
He was scowling. ‘You texting someone?’
‘Just a lead.’
‘You want to share it with me?’ Hunter held his gaze. ‘Or do you want to jump in at the last minute and grab all the glory like in that interview?’ He jutted his chin towards the screen.
Happy Jack was not talking to himself, but at least he’d stopped scratching himself so vigorously.
Cullen eased himself out of his chair. ‘Chill, mate. Just following orders.’
‘Would’ve been nice to have that info before we started.’
‘Would’ve been—’
Hunter grinned. ‘Just winding you up, mate. It’s cool.’
Cullen blew air up his face. Definitely wasn’t blushing. ‘Okay. I get you. Good one.’
‘So, all that stuff about the drugs. That’s legit?’
‘Aye. On the level. But you looked like you already had him on the ropes, Craig.’
‘He’s a tough one is Happy Jack. Staff Sergeant Jonathan Braithwaite. Half a life spent in the army, then the rest living on the streets like that.’
‘Right, right.’
The door opened and Shepherd blundered in. He was all red in the face, but Cullen couldn’t figure out from what. ‘Lads. You know DC Chantal Jain?’
Cullen shook his head. But his jaw almost dropped.
‘Morning, boys.’ Jain was of Asian ancestry, Pakistan maybe, and had the ripest local accent. Cullen could almost name the street just off Ferry Road where she’d grown up, that kind of Leith accent that sounded almost soft Glasgow, despite being opposite sides of the country. Her black hair was tied back in a swaying ponytail. And she was gorgeous. Seriously pretty. ‘Craig, I know you. Not in the biblical sense, mind.’
Hunter grinned. ‘Not yet, anyway.’
Shepherd rolled his eyes. ‘Can you two get a room?’
‘Oh, Luke, but Craig’s already taken, isn’t he?’
Hunter shrugged, neither confirming nor denying it.
Cullen would bet his paltry savings on Hunter’s girlfriend not being too happy with this. He thrust out a hand. ‘DC Scott Cullen.’
Shepherd smiled. ‘Acting DC.’
‘Well, ADC Cullen, it’s a pleasure to meet you.’ Jain shook his hand like a clamp, but she wouldn’t look at Cullen, just kept her focus on lover-boy Hunter. First time in a while that’d happened to Cullen. ‘Anyway, so you’re the wankers who got that drugs lead?’
Hunter laughed. ‘The very wankers.’
‘Well, then.’ She walked right up to him, then sat down in front of him. ‘This Happy Jack guy. Is he on the level?’
‘He’s on several Class A’s.’ Hunter gave a flash of his
eyebrows. ‘Whatever he can get his hands on.’
‘But it sounds like you broke through his defences?’
Hunter flexed his pectorals just then. Bad boy. ‘We served together.’
‘Oh, right. I see.’ Jain sat back and took out a wad of paperwork. ‘And you got intel that someone’s dealing heroin from that gym?’
Cullen butted in. ‘I had to wait for them to—’
‘Aye, aye.’ Jain sat back with her BlackBerry in front of her face. ‘Well, thanks for your donkey work in ferrying the sample down to us. We’ve got this fancy new machine that processed the contents of that condom double quick. It’s an unusually pure strain. “Afghan tear-up” is the street name.’
Hunter barked out a humourless laugh. ‘Don’t talk to me about Afghanistan.’ He looked away. ‘That why you’re here?’
‘Had a few cases. Managed to cross-check against two deaths three months ago. Same drug, same purity. Thing is, they thought they’d got it all, but now it’s back.
Hunter folded his arms, almost popping the sleeves of his shirt. Christ, he was like Arnold Schwarzenegger in his bodybuilding days, posing and flexing for the crowd. ‘Part of that was Scott’s quick thinking. Got the doc to—’
‘Well, I’m still impressed.’ Jain unfolded a sheet of paper and smoothed it down on the table between her and Hunter. ‘As you know, Craig, me and DI Wilkinson are on secondment to the Drugs Squad. Mostly intel support, but that means there’s a lot of stuff I can dig deep into for you.’
Christ, it was like she was in a job interview. If that’s the kind of bluff and bluster you needed to get a full tenure as a DC, then Cullen had a lot more training to do.
Hunter picked up another chair and sat on it, backwards. Edgy, but in a late eighties kind of way. ‘So, what have you found?’
‘Well, like the name says, we think it’s from Afghanistan. And it’s on a tear-up, that’s for sure. Upshot is your dafties overdosing are the first survivors of a few here in Edinburgh. Thing is, we thought we’d stopped it. It went all quiet on the western front for a month and we were going to come back to mainstream CID, then Big Luke here calls me up out of the blue.’ She stared hard at Hunter again. ‘Assuming it is the same stuff, that’s bad news.’
Cullen cleared his throat and got the two lovers to break off eye contact. ‘Two of the ODs are in intensive care. Dr Yule suspects they’re new to the habit as their three associates are okay-ish with that dose.’