by Ed James
‘That was your case this morning.’ There went the last of Yvonne’s white. ‘You should feel bad for us having to do your dirty work.’
‘Well, nature of the beast.’
‘Craig said you saved two lives?’
‘Something like that.’
‘You did, or you didn’t?’
‘Two were okay, or at least okay enough for the paramedics to sort out.’ Cullen took a big dent out of his glass. ‘I drove the other two up to the ERI, jumping all the red lights.’ He swallowed down bile. ‘One didn’t make it. Ally was at her PM an hour ago. Thought we’d saved her.’
‘That must be hard.’
‘So fucking hard.’
Yvonne pulled her gaze away from Cullen’s long enough to search the room. ‘Thought Craig would be here.’
Cullen finished his first glass. ‘He got taken on a raid by this idiot DI based at Leith Walk.’
‘Right.’ She finished her glass now. ‘Could’ve told me.’
Cullen didn’t want to get stuck between two quarrelling lovers, but she looked like she needed to talk. ‘You okay?’
‘Not really.’ She took a big drink of red now. ‘Craig’s… Well, he’s Craig.’
‘Tell me about it.’
She glared at him. ‘What, are you saying “tell me about it” like you actually want me to? Or you want me to shut up?’
‘Either. If you want to talk, I’ll listen.’
She sat back and let out a big sigh. ‘Things are difficult between us. Have been for a while. Craig… He’s always hiding stuff from me, makes it really bloody hard to know what to do about anything.’
‘What kind of thing?’
‘Little things. He thinks I don’t notice, but…’ Another glug of wine. ‘I love him, right, but I’m just not sure he loves me.’
‘I know he does.’
She winced. ‘Well, maybe we’re just not suited. Or this isn’t the right time for us.’
‘That could be the case.’
‘Mm.’ She stared into her glass.
Cullen leaned forward. ‘This morning, when we were looking for Becky, Shepherd said something like “That makes sense”. Craig was standing in this trance, just after he saw Happy Jack. Any idea what he meant?’
Yvonne nodded. ‘I mean, they served together.’
‘I know, but… Craig froze when he saw him. Just stood there. Like, worse than Elvis was. And he was sober.’
‘Right.’ She sighed, and her shoulders dropped. ‘You know he’s got PTSD?’
‘I didn’t, no.’ It explained a lot. A hell of a lot. ‘This what he’s been keeping from you?’
‘Partly. But… It’s complex. He should be on medication or getting counselling or both. But he’s in denial about the whole thing. Thinks he’ll get sacked if he talks to anyone about it.’
‘So he covers it up?’
‘Tries to. But clearly Luke knows what’s going on.’
‘Right. Which means half the brass do.’ Cullen waved over at the dance floor. Davenport was taking all the Kirsty McColl lines in that Pogues song, shouting them at Turnbull. Seemed very cathartic calling him a “cheap, lousy faggot”. He looked back at Yvonne. ‘I want to help.’
‘Me or Craig?’
‘Both. Either.’
‘Well, Craig is the one who needs to get help. What he’s been through has broken him. Or maybe that’s too harsh. Damaged him. But either way, he needs help.’
‘And you?’
‘It’s driving me crazy, Scott. I love Craig, but I can’t keep doing this. Someone acting the way he does, you can only do it for so long before it eats you up. And he’s talking about having kids.’
‘I see. How do you feel about that?’
‘I mean, I want them at some point, right? We’re still young. But I just don’t think Craig will ever be ready. What if he has a PTSD flashback when he’s cradling our baby?’
‘Aye, I see that. Must be tough.’
‘You have no idea. Single guys like you, Scott, you’ve got it easy.’ She finished her glass and reached across the table for a bottle sitting in the shadow, then frowned at it. ‘This has barely been touched.’ She leaned over and topped up Cullen’s glass with Chateauneuf-du-Prestonpans, then filled hers to the brim, just like Elvis had.
‘Cheers.’ Cullen reached behind him and found another barely drunk bottle. ‘So, about Craig. What can I do to help?’
16
Hunter
The traffic filled both sides of Gorgie Road, stuck at both ends by the grinding drills of yet another set of Christmas roadworks. Some bastard in the council was determined to piss off as many of west Edinburgh’s denizens as they could. The stink of tar mixed with roasting meat from the burger van serving up a late tea to the workers on the night shift.
Made Hunter feel sick, hauling him back to somewhere he didn’t want to go. Somewhere hot, underground. The same smells, just a different source.
The sign for Boab’s Books caught the latest gust of wind and made that squealing sound again. The shop was as battered looking as the sign. Grimy windows that didn’t clearly show what kind of shop it was, or even if it actually sold books.
Hunter didn’t know any of the characters, their in-jokes, the longstanding beefs, who to trust, who to avoid.
Actually, he knew Chantal Jain. She knew what she was doing, but this wasn’t her rodeo and she stood down the street on the phone, presumably to her boss.
But Hunter knew he needed to avoid DI Bain. That was clear. Guy was an arsehole. And more than just a little dangerous. He’d seen his type before.
‘Here, Shaz, can you pull your fuckin’ finger out and get uniform to pull their collective fingers out, aye?’ Bain laughed. ‘Unless they’ve got whole hands up there?’
DS McNeill gave a warm smile, way kinder than he or his joke deserved. Showed real character to be treated like shite and to not buckle under it. Then again, it was 2010 and people like Bain shouldn’t be in charge of anything other than a drawer full of paperclips. ‘Right, sir, I’ll see what’s what.’
Hunter shuffled over to stand next to Shepherd, lurking at the periphery and smiling like he’d at least read up on this show before he’d been asked to participate. ‘You know them?’
‘A few of them, aye.’ Shepherd folded his arms that bit tighter. ‘Bain is… Well.’ He shook his head, but was grimacing rather than grinning. ‘He’s Bain. Sharon’s a good cop. She used to be in my team, way before you.’
‘Right.’ Hunter watched her bark out orders to a beaten-down clown in a uniform, just missing the giant shoes and the lapel flower spraying water. ‘What’s the story with her and Bain?’
‘No story, Craig. Just mentor-mentee.’
‘Well, it seems to me like he’s bullying her.’
‘Some people need coaxing.’
‘How?’
‘Sharon has a bit of a lazy streak. Don’t get me wrong, you give her something she cares about, there’s not a cop alive who’ll do it better, and few dead ones. But try getting her to do something she doesn’t like? Forget it.’
‘Sounds like Cullen.’
Shepherd grinned. ‘Peas in a pod, them two.’
Hunter shivered as another blast of the arctic wind hit them. ‘Missing the party?’
‘Watching a load of arseholes boogying to Brown Eyed Girl? Not for me, Clive.’
Hunter frowned at him. ‘Clive?’
‘Relax, Craig. It’s a football joke, not a new nickname.’
‘That’s a relief.’
McNeill charged back towards them from their post by the chemist, and nodded at Bain. ‘They’re good to go, sir. Back entrance secure.’
‘Fuckin’ better be.’ Bain stared along the road for a few seconds, his moustache twitching, then focused on Hunter. ‘Right, Big Yin, you and DS McNeill here are to form my vanguard.’
‘Your what?’
Bain rolled his eyes. ‘You’re going in first, you big daftie.’ He shook his head, bu
t was very definitely grinning. ‘Me and Luke will lurk around here, make sure you two do your job. Capiche?’
‘Got it.’ Hunter gazed at McNeill, just in time to catch a flicker of a smirk. ‘Ready when you are, Sarge.’
‘No time like the present.’ McNeill clicked her right finger just in time for the nearby traffic lights to change to red, then charged across the road.
Hunter had to jog to catch up, checking he had his baton and cuffs readily accessible. His pepper spray was in his pocket, but deep enough that it wouldn’t go off accidentally in his own face.
McNeill looked back across the road, got a nod, then gave one to Hunter. ‘You first.’
‘Sarge.’ Hunter entered the shop. The bell gave a broken tinkle.
The place was crammed full of bookshelves and a ghost of cigarette smoke, though the air didn’t have that telltale blue tinge. Maybe most of the stock came from smoking homes. Or the tired-looking bookseller behind the till had just sucked on five fags out the back door and left it open.
Hunter took charge and walked up to the till. ‘Nice evening.’
‘Is it?’ She looked him up and down, then sipped from a white mug emblazoned with “Aye, darlin’” and no clues as to what that was referencing. If anything. ‘I’m just about to shut, so if you want to grab something, I can still put it through the till.’
Hunter leaned on the table. ‘Looking for Kenny.’
‘Kenny who?’
‘Falconer.’ Hunter opened his warrant card and flashed it to her. ‘Police. Just need a word with him.’
Another sip of coffee. ‘He’s not here.’
‘Seen him recently?’
‘Not for a while, why?’
The door gave its broken tinkle again. Bain stepped in, hands in pockets, whistling away.
Hunter focused on the cashier again. ‘Are you in charge here?’
‘No.’
‘Who is then?’
‘Ricky.’ She thumbed over at a set of stairs between two bookcases. ‘He’s up in the flat.’
Bain stepped between McNeill and Hunter. ‘Shaz, you stay here. Me and the Big Yin will see what’s what.’ He clapped Hunter’s arm then skipped off up the stairs.
Hunter followed, but clutched his baton. ‘You got a warrant for this?’
‘Warrant schmarrant.’ Bain stopped at the top and rapped his knuckles on the door. ‘Ricky? Police!’
Hunter stared hard at Bain. ‘I’m a bit uncomfortable about—’
‘Son, you’re a constable. I’m an inspector. Ergo, this is my neck on the line. You follow my lead, capiche?’
Aye, and Hunter had never been prodded with the big shitty stick of blame, had he? ‘You keep saying “capiche”, but it doesn’t make you look bad ass.’
‘Rightio.’ Bain smirked as he hit the door again. ‘Ricky?’ He paused for a few seconds, then pressed his ear to the door. ‘Can you hear that?’
Hunter took his place at the door and listened hard. Sounded like a series of dull thuds. ‘Someone opening a window?’
‘My thinking exactly.’ Bain tapped the door with his shoe. ‘Open sesame.’
Another joy of being the lowest rung on the ladder. Well, except for Cullen but he wasn’t here.
Then another thud and a scream, ‘Ah, you bastard!’
‘Fuckin’ come on, Craig!’
Hunter stepped back and took his aim. ‘This is on you.’ He took a step back and charged the door, knee up, drove his boots into the door next to the latch.
Wood splintered as he crashed through, sending the door trim halfway cross the room as the door banged backwards on its protesting hinges.
Over by the window, a bony arse was poking out of the gap, skinny legs in skinny jeans kicking against the air, the window pane pinning his waist down.
Bain stayed in the doorway.
Hunter raced over and hauled the window up with a tearing shriek, not all of which came from the body belonging to the arse he was pulling back into the room.
A man in his twenties. A Wu Tang hoodie about six Xs too big for him and faded jeans four inches too small. Giant white basketball shoes, looking box fresh.
Hunter pushed him against the wall nearest the window. ‘Ricky?’
Stoned eyes looked up at him, but didn’t really focus on anything. ‘Depends who’s asking.’
‘Police, son.’ Bain joined them by the window and peered out onto Gorgie Road. ‘Got a few of our pals out there, you know. If you’d got out of here and hadn’t buggered your ankle when you landed, you’d have been nicked.’ He waved out of the window. ‘Evening, boys.’ Then he turned to face Ricky. ‘As it is, I can just pretend you getting stuck in the window was a sex game.’
‘Shut up, man.’
Bain smiled. ‘You got any way of proving you’re Ricky and not Kenny Falconer?’
‘Eh?’
‘Son, I need a driver’s license or a passport.’
‘Right. Let me get you one.’
Hunter checked with Bain, got a nod, then let Ricky go from his position by the window.
Ricky dusted himself off, then grabbed an overstuffed wallet from the table in front of a games console. He pulled out a driver’s license and held it out for Hunter. ‘See?’
Hunter snapped on a glove and inspected it. ‘Richard Duncan Falconer. Date of birth, fourth of November, 1986.’
‘Christ, you must’ve had a tough childhood.’ Bain bellowed with laughter. ‘Grow up in Gotham or something?’
Ricky laughed. ‘You’re hardly Batman.’
‘More like Commissioner Gordon.’ Bain snatched the card out of Hunter’s grip, then inspected it like a jeweller at a rare diamond. ‘It’s probably real, this. Or a very good fake.’
‘It’s real!’
Hunter spotted some paperwork near to where the wallet had been. He shuffled over and checked it. A red passport wrapped around some prints. Richard Duncan Falconer. He unfolded the paperwork. Bingo. ‘Sir, these are plane tickets to Buenos Aires.’ Sitting on top of a blister pack of diazepam, half empty but still enough to get the worst flyer in the world through even the longest haul.
Bain leaned in close to Ricky. ‘What’s in Buenos Aires?’
‘Going to the football!’
‘Football? You a big River Plate fan, or something?’
‘Los Millonarios? Hardly.’ Ricky gave a slack-jawed laugh. ‘Boca Juniors, all the way.’
‘Huh.’ Bain smoothed down his moustache. ‘Where’s the flight from, Craig?’
Hunter checked again. ‘Newcastle, sir. Tomorrow at twelve.’
‘Weird thing.’ Bain stepped closer to Ricky. No physical contact, but the way he handled himself… It gave even Hunter the creeps. ‘Because we lost a dirty wee raping bastard. He was on the plane from Newcastle to Buenos Aires. But he went today.’
‘Don’t know anything about it.’
‘You don’t know an Alexander Drake?’
Ricky shrugged.
‘Where’s your brother, Ricky?’
‘What brother?’
Bain sighed. ‘Do I have to keep repeating myself?’ He drilled his gaze into Ricky’s eyes. ‘Where’s Kenny?’
Ricky looked away. ‘No idea.’
‘You meeting him in Buenos Aires?’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Where your fuckin’ plane tickets are for, you numpty!’
‘Doubt it.’
‘So where is he?’
‘Fuck knows.’
Bain stood there for a few seconds, silently fuming. Then he looked over at Hunter. ‘Take this prick down the station, Craig.’
17
Cullen
A taxi whizzed past them, slooshing through the rain and spraying the puddle in their direction, but just missing.
Another had its yellow light on and slowed to see if they wanted in, if they wanted shielding from the driving rain.
Cullen waved him away. ‘Guess it’s true what they say.’ He struggled to put one foot anywhere near
the other. If he wasn’t clinging on to Yvonne, he’d go down like a sack of tatties. ‘Don’t eat on an empty stomach.’
‘You mean don’t drink on an empty stomach.’ Yvonne was slurring her speech. ‘Right?’
Cullen stopped but it felt like his head was still walking. ‘What did I say?’
‘Don’t eat on one.’
‘Right. Well, obviously that’s good advice.’ He blinked hard a few times and tried to get his bearings. Jamie’s pub. That meant Causewayside. ‘Where is it you live again?’
‘Grange Loan.’ She waved ahead of them. ‘Not far now.’ He felt her hand tighten around his. ‘I’ve heard stories about you, Scott.’
Cullen stopped and let her hand go. The street spun around his head. ‘What kind of stories?’
‘About how you’re a ladies’ man, as my dad would say. How I should be worried about you and your reputation. How you’re a bit of a shagger.’
‘I’m not.’ Cullen wanted to burp but was afraid what would come up. Stale wine and stomach acid wasn’t a nice cocktail, especially served on a pavement. ‘Who told you?’
‘This nurse?’
That explained it. Christ. She was making his life an absolute hell.
Well, not that bad. But still…
‘I was at the hospital today, speaking to the people who treated Becky when she… She asked if I worked with you. And… Aye. Told me you’re shagging your way around the place.’
Bollocks to it. She deserved the truth. ‘The thing is, I kissed her. That’s true. But she’s not someone I want to be with. That’s it. So I didn’t see her again. And it seemed fine, but… But I had this thing with a doctor at the hospital.’
‘And this nurse got jealous and started spreading rumours?’
‘Aye. I’m serious.’ Cullen felt that sting in his nostrils that signified tears were on the way. He sucked in a deep breath through them, trying to get them under control. ‘I don’t want to sound like an arrogant prick, even though I am. But that’s what happened. And I think I really like this doctor.’
‘Yule?’
Cullen nodded. ‘You know her?’
‘I can see why you’d be into her.’