by Ed James
Cullen felt a stab of pain in his shoulder. ‘Don’t remind me. Did she follow where he went?’
‘She’s an old dear in her seventies. Says her eyesight ain’t what it used to be, but she’s adamant she saw you two fighting. She wants to talk to the “valiant policeman who fought that ghastly black man”. Her words, not mine.’
‘Jesus.’ The bus set off and Cullen trundled up St Leonard’s Street.
‘I know, right?’ Buxton sighed. ‘Anyway, she heard a loud commotion in McLintock’s garden. So she looked out and saw a black-suited figure open the greenhouse door and hobble towards the garden wall. Seconds later, you climbed from the rear window, fell from the drainpipe, cracked your arse open, gave chase and wrestled the black-suited escapee to the ground. Not losing your touch, are you?’
‘Did she recognise him?’
‘Nah, but she reckons he was a man, couldn’t tell how old but he was physically fit and, I’m putting words in her mouth, but he was well-practised in hand-to-hand combat. Although he seemed to be clumsy with his knife. That, or you showed great skill in disarming him. Know which one my money’s on.’
Cullen had to wait while the bus pulled in for another gang of commuters heading south. ‘That it?’
‘Nah, there was something else. Something weird, mate.’ Sounded like Buxton was shuffling through his notebook. ‘She recorded it on her phone. Bit shaky, but there’s a video of the fight. Queer thing is, when you knocked your head against the garden wall and lost consciousness, this Batman geezer didn’t take advantage. She thought he was going through your pockets, but it turned out he was moving you into the recovery position.’
‘What?’
‘Like I say, very peculiar behaviour. Maybe you were just too sorry a sight, lying there at his feet, passed out and—’
‘Si, that guy slit McLintock’s throat right in front of me.’
‘Shit.’ Buxton sighed again. ‘Weird as hell, mate. Either way, she says this black fella ducked through the gate and disappeared into the trees.’
‘She confirmed that we’re looking for a big guy in a Batman costume.’
‘Look, I’ve got to go, mate. Catch you later.’
Cullen took his chance and cut down the back street, finally clear of the bus. ‘Have you told Lamb?’
‘Can’t find him. Catch you later, mate.’ And he was gone.
Cullen pulled into the car park behind St Leonard’s and got out. He yawned into his fist yet again. Badly need a coffee.
‘Scott!’ Lamb was charging towards him. ‘You got him?’
‘He’s not at the gym.’ Cullen screwed his eyes up at the grey sky. ‘I’m fine, by the way. Nice to see you.’
Lamb frowned. ‘That was your lead? Hoping he’s there at the same time as you? Give me strength…’
‘He’s a gym bunny like you, Bill. Lifts so much every day that I’d prolapse just thinking about it.’ Cullen nodded at Lamb’s bulky form. ‘You wouldn’t.’
‘So, you got any other leads?’
‘I checked and he’s not been there in months. So I’ll dig deeper after my—’
‘Scott, you need to focus.’
‘Bill, I’ve driven over here from Tulliallan to get to the gym at opening, which is usually when Big Rob turns up. I’ve not had breakfast or a coffee. What else do you want from me?’
Lamb just stood there, flexing. ‘Well, I just caught up with Bain. He’s managing the street team, God save us. Says Si Buxton took a statement from a neighbour who saw you chasing a guy wearing a Batman costume.’
‘You believe me now?’
‘Well, a seventy-four-year-old lady with glasses thinks she saw a black-suited man run away in the night, from a distance, and she’s convinced it was Batman. Give me a break.’
‘Bill, are you saying you don’t believe her?’
‘Someone’s lost their mind, Scott, and I hope it’s not you. How can I explain this to the press, eh? Has anyone seen Batman? We’re looking for him in connection with a brutal slaying because we’re trusting some old biddy who thinks she might’ve seen him out of a high window in the middle of the bloody night. What do you reckon?’
‘Actually—’
‘Exactly. Now, I need to focus on the only suspect we’ve got.’
Cullen frowned. ‘I’ll find Big—’
‘Vardy!’ Lamb threw his arms up in the air. ‘Scott, pull your head out of your arse. You told me Vardy was pissed off with McLintock. Do you really need me to spell out our next move here?’
Vardy was sat at the Debonair’s bar, taking a very long sip from a pint of lager. Looked like the whole thing went down in one. He slammed the glass off the bartop and licked his lips.
Cullen walked over and sat next to him. ‘Ah, there you are.’
Vardy didn’t look at him, his eyes obscured by black sunglasses, on a dull February morning. Indoors.
Lamb scraped back the stool on the other side and sat, leaning his bulky arms on the bar. ‘I’d ask if that’s your first taste of freedom but we all know you got absolutely battered last night.’
Vardy focused on his pint glass. ‘What do you want?’
‘I want to know who killed Sammy McLean.’
Vardy pushed the sunglasses down his nose and stared at Lamb for a few long moments. ‘You want to repeat that?’
Cullen shrugged. ‘You’re only sitting here because someone shot him. In a hospital.’
Vardy took his glasses off and threw them on the bar, where they dinged against the glass like a silver bell. He looked round at Cullen, dark shadows under his bloodshot eyes. ‘And there’s me thinking you’re here to follow up on the death threat I reported last night.’
‘I hadn’t heard.’ Lamb snorted. ‘Sounds like bullshit, though.’
‘It’s not bullshit.’ Vardy clicked his finger at the barman to get another pint. ‘Why are you here, officers?’
‘We’re here for your alibi, but since that also concerns last night, why don’t you repeat your wee report?’
‘Alibi?’ Vardy looked around at the two security guys standing behind them, their hands folded in front of them, so things still looked civil. Their tight smiles told another story. ‘Why would you of all people ask me about my alibi?’ He frowned at Cullen. ‘You are my alibi. You and that big palooka, what’s his name? Williamson? Wilkinson?’ He looked at Cullen like he’d walked into the wrong film. ‘Don’t tell me you can’t remember? That fat bastard kicked off outside. Looked like a farmer with a fuse as short as his mother’s cock. You had to march him off before he made an even bigger tit of himself.’
Cullen could feel Lamb’s look burn a hole into his face, so he kept his eyes front and centre. ‘I remember, but that was early evening. Right?’
‘Between seven and eight.’ One of the doormen nodded. Kenny or the one pumped full of Synthol. Cullen couldn’t tell because of the large bomber jackets they wore. ‘Got it on CCTV.’
‘Well, there you go. My alibi.’ Vardy burped as his barman handed him a fresh pint. ‘Cheers. Matter of fact, I woke up on this very bar about five minutes before you walked in.’ He picked up his pint, glancing back and forth between his visitors. ‘So, I’d appreciate if you could let me get back to my breakfast.’ He held up the glass and took another long sip, taking it below halfway.
Lamb smiled at him, but only with his mouth. ‘Sorry to be a bother, sir. We’ll be on our way, then.’ He stood up from his stool and swept his hand off the bar to offer Vardy a handshake, but when Vardy saw what was coming, it was already too late. Lamb backhanded the glass, his wedding ring clinking, and knocked it clean out of Vardy’s hand. Straight into his lap. Beer showered over Vardy’s trousers. The glass smashed on the floor, the golden liquid sloshing over his shoes, pooling in a puddle. Wide-eyed, he looked back up at Lamb. ‘What the—’
‘My mistake entirely, Mr Vardy. Please don’t feel stupid.’ Lamb patted him on the shoulder. ‘Can I get you a new one?’
‘Get your hand off my shoulder.’ Vardy sta
red at him, seething. He took a sharp breath and narrowed his bloodshot eyes at Lamb. ‘Listen to me. Some prick made a death threat. I need to know who to kill.’
Lamb wiped his hand on his suit jacket. ‘Certainly, sir.’ He glanced at Cullen, then at Vardy. ‘You must get a fair few death threats. What’s got you pissing your pants about this one?’
‘Aye, it’s not the first.’ Vardy glanced down at his wet crotch and started rubbing at it. ‘But some arsehole projected a video onto the wall of my nightclub.’ He gave up on the wet patch and pulled his phone from his pocket. ‘Here, I’ve got it on video.’ He held up his phone and played the video for them.
A shaky image showed the side of Vardy’s club on George Street, his own head projected on it, a cartoonish knife slicing his throat, over and over again.
Vardy put the phone back in his pocket. ‘I sent a couple of my boys up the building opposite and they found a projector rigged up. Got them to take it to the police.’
Cullen laughed. ‘Sure you didn’t do that yourself?’
Vardy stared at him. ‘Look, you prick, I’m shitting myself here. You need to do something about it.’
‘Top of our to-do list. Promise.’ Lamb clapped him on the shoulder and flashed him another one of his shark smiles. ‘I need a wee bit of information from you first. Starting with where you were between nine and midnight last night.’
‘Told you, you donkey. I was right here. Fell asleep at the bar.’
‘You got witnesses for that?’
Vardy pointed at his two goons. ‘You need statements? Take them from these boys.’
‘Anyone I can rely on?’
‘I’ll give you the CCTV footage. That do you? As you pointed out, I’ve been at her majesty’s pleasure for a year and a half so it’s not like I can tape over it with Monday’s, is it?’
‘Fine. So your defence is that you were here?’
‘Defence of what?’
‘You really don’t know?’
‘You need to stop being a prick, mate. Might help you do your job. Who’s died? Anyone good?’
Lamb stepped around him, careful to avoid the beer puddle on the way out. ‘Campbell McLintock.’
Vardy stood there, clenching and unclenching his fists.
19
Lamb pushed his way into the station canteen, Cullen following in a daze. ‘What you having, Scott?’
Cullen flinched.
‘What’s up?’ Lamb walked right up to the counter and looked at Cullen with that familiar concern in his eyes. ‘You not getting enough sleep?’
‘Something like that.’ Cullen looked for a seat. At this time of the morning it was quiet – that perfect window between shift patterns, just that uniform superintendent fuming away at her laptop. ‘Coffee. At least two shots.’
‘You look like you need it.’ Lamb caught the barista’s attention. ‘Too busy shagging around, no doubt. You do know it’s Valentine’s Day, right? Might want to get a wee card for Sharon to apologise for… I’m sure you’re due her an apology for something, right? Get her something classy.’
‘Right.’ Cullen walked over to a small table in the far corner, facing away from the door. That morning’s Argus was smeared with brown sauce and dusted with brown sugar. He flipped it over and attacked the sport section. Usual Rangers–Celtic shite. You’d be forgiven for thinking Edinburgh didn’t have a football team, let alone three in the league nowadays. He put the paper down and glanced back to see what was taking so long.
Lamb was deep in conversation with the barman, a gym buddy judging by the guy’s physique. No doubt discussing food supplements and protein shakes. No sign of Cullen’s espresso, though. Guy looked like he knew where to get any flavour of steroid, and how to use it.
‘Alright, Scott?’ Yvonne Flockhart was frowning at him, looking like she’d just left the salon, even at this time of the morning. ‘You okay?’
‘No.’ Cullen cringed. ‘Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired. You know how it is.’
Her frown turned into a pout. ‘One of those days, is it?’ She pointed at the empty chair next to him. ‘Is that free?’
‘Go ahead.’ He got up and helped her out of her fluffy coat.
She hung it over the back of her chair and took a seat.
Cullen stayed on his feet, wondering whether she had meant to brush his hand when she took the coat.
‘Scott? Are you going to sit with me or should I stand up again?’
‘No, no, I was just thinking about…’ He cupped his hands round his mouth. ‘Hey, Bill, get something for Yvonne.’
Lamb didn’t even break stride with his gym buddy, just gave a casual salute. ‘English breakfast, loads of milk. Got it.’
Cullen sat back down and pretended not to notice the smile twitching in the corner of her mouth. ‘So, how you doing, Yvonne?’
‘Fine, aye. You know how it is. I was looking for Ally Davenport. He said he’d be here. Needed a wee chat for a while now, and seeing as how that bloody course is cancelled this morning, I thought—’ She leaned forward. ‘Whatever’s on your mind, Scott, you can talk to me about it.’
‘Talk about what?’
‘Come on, Scott, cut the shite. The whole “I’m a Scottish man” bullshit. We don’t talk about our feelings. We buy them drinks, and then we get them so shitfaced they forget where we live.’ She arched an eyebrow. ‘Or who we’re shagging?’
Cullen wanted to crawl off into the corner. Staring at the sugar dusting the table was as close as he could manage. ‘Alright. I’m going through relationship hell.’
‘Tell me about it.’
Does she mean she’s going through that circle of hell herself, or is it an invitation to actually talk?
Bugger it.
‘Ever since you and I…’ He bit his lip and glanced at the counter. Lamb was facing away from him, absorbed in his chat. No danger of being overheard – apart from the lone superintendent fizzing away at her laptop, the place was still deserted. He averted his eyes from Yvonne’s. ‘I’ve had a guilty conscience ever since I found out that I messed up your thing with Craig. I was… so drunk at the time that I couldn’t even remember until… Never mind, it’s no excuse for not being able to walk past a beautiful woman without trying to shag her.’ He glanced up at her.
She just raised her eyebrows.
So he dropped his gaze again and carried on. ‘I didn’t mean that to sound like you were just one of many. It’s just that this whole part of my life’s… well… it’s over, you know. But… that sort of behaviour, I’m doing it because there’s something wrong with me, somewhere deep inside. And I’ve tried, believe me I’ve tried, but I’ve got serious commitment issues.’ Again, he looked up at her, hoping for… he wasn’t sure. Some token of sympathy? Some form of absolution? Something to suggest that he wasn’t doing so badly after all?
‘Don’t flatter yourself, Scott.’ Yvonne laughed. ‘You didn’t ruin my relationship with Craig. That was doomed or I wouldn’t have hooked up with you.’
‘Was there anything in what we did?’
‘I don’t know.’ She narrowed her eyes, her little ski-jump nose twitching. ‘But if you’re thinking about past conquests, I imagine your current one isn’t going too well.’
‘Understatement of the year.’
‘Want to talk about it?’
‘I don’t know. It’s… Christ, it’s complicated. When you’re with someone for a while and you think you’re going to spend the rest of your life with them and you talk about having kids and you propose and… aye, she kicks you out. Doesn’t even explain herself. It’s not like I was shagging around behind her back. I was just… me.’
‘When was this?’
‘Last night.’
‘Shite.’
‘Aye. Shite. I just don’t know what the hell to think.’
‘Join the club.’ Yvonne scraped her chair back and snatched her jacket. She pursed her lips. ‘It is shite, but then you get over it. You realise that it’s better not
spending hours of your life in that toxic environment. I’ve been single for three months now and I don’t miss it. None of that shite. Who squeezed the toothpaste from the bottom? Who drank the last of the milk? Who didn’t fill up the car with petrol? It’s all shite and I was just as bad as he was.’ She shook her head, though less at him than at herself, it seemed. ‘Anyway. It gets to you, but then it gets easier.’
‘Yvonne, I’m—’
‘Shh.’ She put a finger to his lips. ‘Scott, stop making everything about you. It’s not a good look.’ She walked over to the counter and grabbed her tea off Lamb before walking out, her angry steps striking the hard wood floor like a series of exclamation marks.
What! The! Hell! Is! Wrong! With! Me!
Cullen picked up a newspaper and buried his head in Rangers melodrama. He stared at the newsprint, watched it become blurrier the harder he tried to focus on it, but that was the least of his problems.
She was right.
I’m such a selfish prick. All that shagging around… it was just a cry for attention. Looking for rejection in all the wrong places.
And Sharon was right to break up with me. We were just bored. That’s no way to live your life. And you only get one. Just this – the here and now. There’s nothing else.
He could still taste her handcream on his lips.
You fucking idiot, don’t fall in love with her.
Softer footsteps walked towards him. ‘Well done, Shagger.’ Lamb plonked two paper cups on the table, the one marked C bubbling through the lid. ‘Classy.’
Cullen looked up. He had nothing to say.
Lamb sat on the vacated chair. ‘Yvonne had the—’
‘Shut up.’
‘Is it your time of the month again, you—’
‘Seriously, Bill. I’m not in the mood.’
Lamb just looked at Cullen, his eyes wide. Then a flash of rage lit them up. ‘Listen, you’re not the only one feeling the stress of this investigation, so—’
‘Don’t make everything about me? Don’t worry, I hear you.’
Lamb leaned back on his chair and folded his arms over his broad chest. ‘Tell me.’