Heroes and Villains

by Ed James

  ‘He should say that we left the pub at around eleven.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Can’t have been much earlier than that, because we went straight back to Tulliallan. Then I got the call from DI Methven ordering me to attend the crime scene not long after.’ He took his phone from his pocket. ‘Let me check. Shouldn’t take—’

  ‘Sergeant.’ Lennox leaned over the table and snatched the mobile from his hand. ‘Were you drinking on your own?’

  ‘I was with DS Flockhart.’

  A frown flickered across Lennox’s forehead. ‘I see.’

  Cullen grabbed his phone back. ‘Am I a suspect here?’

  ‘Excuse me? I need to take that into evidence.’

  ‘You don’t need my phone unless I’m a suspect. Besides, you can call up Tommy Smith and get a list of DI Methven’s calls and whether they were answered. You don’t need my phone.’

  Lennox stared at him for a few hard seconds then looked away. ‘What time was the call?’

  Cullen flicked his finger up the screen until he found what he was looking for. ‘Here we go. Ten fifty-four.’

  Lennox reached into the inside pocket of his suit for his own mobile. After messing with it for a few seconds, he looked back up at Cullen. ‘My call log says you called me at eleven oh one. So, the question—’

  ‘Seven minutes? How could I have possibly got to Edinburgh, murdered Vardy, and got back to Tulliallan in time for you to pick me up?’

  Lennox stared at him, not letting go.

  Cullen threw his hands up. ‘I get it, standard protocol, solid alibis… sod that. I was kiss—’

  ‘Thank you very much for your time, Sergeant.’ Yvonne clapped her hands and leaned over the voice recorder on the table. ‘Interview terminated at eight twenty-two.’

  Cullen stormed out of the interview room and almost knocked Methven off his feet.

  Not that he seemed surprised. ‘Walk with me.’ He turned on his heel and strode off the other way.

  Cullen fell in line behind him, catching up by the stairwell. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Not here.’ Methven glanced up and down the hallway, then opened the door to an empty office and ducked inside.

  Cullen followed him and leaned back against the door. ‘You going to talk now?’

  ‘What do you sodding think? Your interview?’

  ‘Well, that’s what I expected.’ Methven stared at the door like he was facing off against Lennox. ‘Sounds like you’re in the clear, but can you trust DS Flockhart?’

  Cullen said nothing. Just tried to figure out whether he was being set up. He searched Methven for signs of deception. A change in his blink rate or perhaps a twitch in his hands or feet. Got nothing. ‘Lennox thinks I might be the Batman impersonator.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘I’m in better shape than I’ve been in years.’ The wooden door was warming where Cullen’s hands touched it. ‘But it’s not me.’

  ‘Well, clearly.’ Methven gave him a thoughtful nod. ‘I’ve been instructed to keep working the cases, see if we can find any leads that Livingston aren’t investigating.’

  ‘By Cargill?’

  ‘No comment.’ Methven winked. ‘Livingston are interviewing everyone who’s worked both cases, to identify suspects with personal vendettas against both Vardy and McLintock. They’re heading down a sodding rabbit hole.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean they’re wrong.’

  ‘But it doesn’t mean they’re right, either. They’re chasing after a load of corrupt cops who may or may not exist. Believe you me, I know Lennox’s superiors in Livingston. They’re always looking for glory, or at least ways to peg us back.’ He fell silent but kept staring at Cullen.

  Private conversation, no witnesses, vague implications, perfect deniability.

  Bugger this.

  Cullen squared his shoulders and folded his hands across his chest, then he set his face in a non-committal smile. ‘What are you saying?’

  Methven broke his intent stare, if only for long enough to roll his eyes like he was already regretting his choice of ally. ‘Do I really need to spell it out for you?’

  ‘Wouldn’t hurt.’

  ‘Keep investigating both cases but stay under the radar.’

  ‘This is most unlike you.’

  ‘Well…’ Methven paused to give him an ambiguous look. ‘I know when to use certain weapons.’

  ‘Are you calling me a—’

  ‘Sergeant, you’re off the leash.’ Methven patted his arm. ‘Go and forage.’

  26

  Cullen sipped coffee as he climbed the stairs up to their office space, his head still throbbing. Tasted burnt.

  The door opened and a pile of stacked files walked through. ‘Alright, mate?’ Buxton, twisting to the side. ‘You doing anything important?’

  ‘Trying not to, why?’

  Buxton jerked his head in the direction of their office, his feathery fringe flopping over his forehead. ‘Got a shit ton of paperwork to go through. That Flockhart bird, Christ. She’s a piece of work.’

  Cullen grabbed the top few files. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Got me and half the bloody DCs in Scotland looking through the whole case against Vardy.’

  ‘Operation Venus?’

  ‘Right.’ Buxton gave the pile in his hands another shake. ‘This is just the bleeding start of it. If you wouldn’t mind—’

  Through the steamed-up window, they could see the press corps were back in the car park.

  Buxton poked Cullen’s ear with a pen. ‘Wakey, wakey!’

  Cullen pushed the pen away. ‘Get to fuck.’

  ‘You falling asleep?’

  ‘I’m just thinking.’

  ‘Oh yeah, about how you were up shagging all night?’

  ‘I wish.’ Cullen shuffled the papers on his desk and frowned at Buxton. ‘Not getting anywhere with this, mate.’

  ‘No? Well, I am getting somewhere.’ Buxton handed Cullen a case report. ‘Filed by a certain Detective Inspector William Lamb. A murder at a sweet shop.’

  ‘A sweet shop?’

  ‘Pick and mix. Classic con, mate. Cash business, so you can funnel all that moolah through the books.’ Buxton fanned the pages out. ‘Anyway, some geezer got stabbed in the shop a few years back and Lamb caught it. Not unusual in itself, but the stabber died before it could get to court.’

  ‘You’re sure this is Vardy?’

  ‘Check the address.’ Buxton tapped the file. ‘It’s the tanning salon Vardy’s Polish bird works in. Vardy bought the building in 2010. Wilko’s lot didn’t know he owned it.’

  Cullen gave a low whistle as he scanned the index page. ‘Nice work.’ He tried Lamb’s number but it went to voicemail. ‘Right, I’ll speak to Bill about it.’ He got to his feet and stretched out. ‘Keep this between us, aye?’

  Cullen parked outside Tulliallan, chewing the last of his tuna sandwich. He reached for the paper coffee cup in the middle console and walked over to the building, swilling a sip of tepid americano around his mouth to dislodge a bit of sweetcorn between his front teeth. He opened the front door and headed through reception.

  ‘Excuse me! Sergeant Cullen?’ The spotty young attendant shot out and caught Cullen’s arm, glaring at him with a sulky frown. ‘I have to ask you to vacate your room ASAP.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘I’m asking you to check out as soon as—’

  ‘I know what ASAP means. Why do I have to check out?’

  The receptionist replied with a melodramatic eyeroll. ‘Becauuuuuse we’re expecting a large contingent of the Dundee and Aberdeen MIT on secondment to support the Livingston team, and they’re all staying here to save on Edinburgh hotel bills.’

  And that hour each way of wasted travel doesn’t get a cell on the spreadsheet, does it?

  Cullen gave him a stern look. ‘I need that room.’

  ‘No, you don’t.’ Lamb stepped between them. ‘He’ll be out of here.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Th
e receptionist dashed over to his desk and set to work on his computer.

  ‘Bill, I need that room.’

  ‘No, Scott. You need to explain why you missed today’s course.’

  ‘I was over at St Leonards, meeting with—’

  ‘Your interview finished before nine, right?’

  ‘It did, but I got railroaded into helping Buxton pull together old cases.’

  ‘And Lennox would back that up?’

  ‘Methven would.’

  ‘Scott, if you’re on active duty, I have to chuck you off the course. You and Flockhart. Okay?’

  ‘I’ve been trying to call but you didn’t answer.’

  Lamb bit back his anger. ‘What about?’

  ‘Need to ask you about Sweet Dreams.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Shop in Gorgie. This is what I’ve been helping Si Buxton root through. One Declan Cooper was murdered there.’

  ‘I sort of remember it. Why are you looking at it?’

  ‘Turns out Vardy owned the shop. Probably for money laundering. It’s now a tanning salon.’

  ‘Scott, that case was so long ago, I wouldn’t remember enough about it to answer basic questions.’ Lamb’s mouth hung open. ‘Are Livvy going after me?’

  ‘What? No. Not yet.’ Cullen frowned at him. ‘Look, did Vardy’s name ever come up?’

  ‘I do remember that McLintock was involved, now you mention it.’ Lamb’s eyes went out of focus like he was trying to remember the investigation but was drawing a blank. He blinked and shook his head. ‘I don’t think Vardy was mentioned, though.’ He was still shaking his head, then stopped. ‘Hold on. That case fell apart while I was on honeymoon.’ He swallowed. ‘The suspect died in custody, right?’

  ‘Right. Johnny Cockburn.’

  ‘I remember now. Now, he was connected to Vardy. Aye, Operation Venus became involved. Wilko took over while I was off.’

  ‘Wait, Wilko?’

  ‘Do you need me to repeat every second word or something?’ Lamb narrowed his eyes, like it was all coming back into focus. ‘You should have a word with him. Stupid bastard was in charge of that botched sting on Vardy last year, the one where that stripper got shot.’

  ‘Aye, and Campbell McLintock got Vardy off that time, too.’ Cullen puffed up his cheeks and let a long breath escape his lips. ‘Wait a sec. You can’t seriously suggest that Wilko’s in that Batman costume?’

  ‘Hardly.’ Lamb laughed. ‘Actually, a year ago and Wilko would need two costumes and that’s just for his legs. Now, though… He’s looking good, isn’t he? Slimline tonic, or so he says. Reckon he’s been fasting.’

  ‘Either way, I need to speak to him.’

  ‘If you want my advice, Scott, you should pass the intel on to Lennox.’ Lamb’s smile turned to a frown. ‘Speaking of which. Lennox called me earlier. Try to keep this on the down low, but they’re looking at your better half.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Christ, Scott. Sharon. Turns out Sharon’s Sexual Offences Unit in Bathgate had Vardy under investigation too.’

  ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘Do I look like I’m joking?’ Lamb stared at him, eyes narrowed, his jaw set. ‘Few years back, Methven charged Vardy. A woman called Pauline Quigley alleged that he’d assaulted and raped her.’

  ‘I remember. I worked that case.’ Cullen let out a slow sigh. ‘Never seen Methven that angry. McLintock got wind of her lying to another investigation and got the case thrown out.’

  ‘Well, it didn’t end there. Your better half and her Sexual Offences Unit picked it up. Way I hear it, they tried to round up a whole legion of other witnesses to build a cast-iron case against Vardy.’

  ‘That was years ago, though.’

  ‘You must know from your Operation Venus days how long a strategic unit takes to build a case.’

  What else has Sharon hidden from me?

  Lamb gave him an encouraging smile. ‘The good news, my friend, is the lead DC is an old pal of yours.’

  Cullen parked across the road from Bathgate Police Station – a white box glowing in the February sun. His old station, over two years in uniform, barely making a dent in West Lothian’s crime statistics. Fighting an uphill battle out here. For some reason it looked like somebody had painted a zebra crossing all the way up the front wall.

  Across the road, Bain was pacing up the broad pavement, whistling to himself. Then he veered off track, skipped up the front steps and slipped in through the door.

  Cullen stared at the closing door. What the hell is he doing here? He reached for the door handle and got out into the howling gale. So much for the sunshine.

  Cullen walked through the doorway into the office space and stopped to look around. The place stank of stewing coffee, like it’d been left on all day.

  Chantal Jain looked up from her laptop, straight at him, then away.

  Cullen spotted another, easier target, and headed straight past her without a word. ‘Alright, Elvis, how’s tricks?’

  ‘Oh. It’s you. What now?’

  ‘That’s no way to greet an old friend.’

  ‘Can’t see this old friend, Scott, it’s just you.’

  Cullen laughed. ‘You lost weight?’

  ‘Oh.’ Elvis sat up, his chest puffed up. ‘Been doing this intermittent fasting. Have you heard of it? Brilliant stuff. Wilko put me onto it.’ He patted his flat stomach. ‘Helped me cut my Christmas flab and it’s boosted my energy levels. If I’d known—’

  Cullen spotted Hunter working at a desk at the far side of the room. ‘I’ll catch you later, Elvis.’ He made his way across. ‘Alright, Craig?’

  Hunter looked up at him, then straight down at his paperwork. ‘What?’

  Cullen leaned down to speak to him out of earshot of the busy office. For an awkward moment they stared at each other, their noses only inches apart, until Cullen cleared his throat. ‘Is— is your boss in?’

  ‘Nah, she’s in town meeting the PF. I can ask Chantal when she’ll be back, if you want.’

  Cullen caught a glare from Chantal. ‘Actually, it’s you I need to speak to.’

  ‘Is this one of those ones where I get a boot up the arse for helping?’

  ‘Shouldn’t be.’

  ‘Scott.’ Hunter grabbed a handful of Cullen’s jacket and pulled him close. ‘Listen to me. I’ve got a new DS starting on Monday. Clean slate. I don’t want any shite from you ruining that. Okay?’

  Cullen nodded. ‘Great.’

  ‘Great?’ Hunter leaned back in his chair and folded his bulky arms over his equally bulky chest. ‘Why’s that great?’

  Cullen lowered his voice. ‘Fuck’s sake, Craig. I’ve no time for this shit.’ He glanced around, and again caught Chantal’s glare. She was on her feet, pretending to listen to Elvis, but Cullen knew what she was really up to. He turned back to Hunter. ‘Listen, I’m investigating the Vardy and McLintock killings and—’

  Hunter’s eyes bulged. ‘Scott…’ He squinted at him. ‘Did you kill them?’

  ‘Of course not. I might be a dick, Craig, but I’m not a killer.’

  The corners of Hunter’s mouth twitched. ‘Glad to know it.’ He unfolded his arms and leaned forward to continue in a hushed voice. ‘Struggling to see what kind of answers I can give you.’

  ‘Pauline Quigley.’

  ‘The case you and Methven dropped a bollock on?’

  ‘That’s the one.’ Cullen clenched his teeth. ‘Why didn’t your investigation lead to a conviction?’

  ‘What are you getting at, Scott?’

  ‘Well, I’m told you found a number of witnesses and—’

  ‘A number?’ Hunter snorted. ‘Well, I suppose one is a number. Aye, we found other witnesses, but only one who would give a statement.’

  ‘Then why didn’t Vardy go down?’

  ‘Officially, because she changed her mind. Right before the trial. Weird, eh?’

  Just like Amy Forrest. ‘And unofficially?’

  ‘Unofficiall
y means if I tell you, you keep it to yourself. This time, you don’t go behind my back. Are we clear?’

  Cullen locked eyes with Hunter, then gave him a curt nod.

  Hunter glanced around and lowered his voice to a whisper: ‘Unofficially, Vardy found out that she was about to testify against him and changed her mind for her.’

  Cullen whispered back. ‘Who’s the witness?’

  27

  Christine ‘Candy’ Broadhurst opened the door, wearing a uniform of sadness. Holes in her slippers, baggy grey cotton joggers, her washed-out woolly cardigan open loose over a shapeless off-white T-shirt. All of it long overdue a wash. The odd grey strand had crept into her hair – dark roots growing out the once-glossy blonde. Her eyes stared with a dead emptiness, like she didn’t give a shit anymore.

  A million miles away from Candy the stripper – one of Vardy’s girls.

  Candy stared at the two cops looking at her and seemed to know what they saw. She grabbed the open flaps of her cardigan and wrapped them tight around her loose hips. Maybe she was just cold. ‘What do you want?’ Her ire was focused on Cullen.

  He tried for a warm smile. ‘Hi, Candy, good to—’

  ‘If you’ve come here to talk me into giving evidence against Dean, then you can leave right now.’ Her hand went back to the door, ready to slam it in their faces. But something made her stop.

  Hunter glanced at Cullen, then back at Candy. ‘I’m afraid—’

  A baby’s cry screamed out.

  Candy’s anger deflated like a tired old balloon, her shoulders sagging. She turned and shuffled back into her flat. ‘Close the door, eh? The bairn’ll get a chill.’

  Cullen let Hunter go first and followed him through to the living room. He stopped in the doorway while Hunter went over to the window, looking out on the arse end of Blackburn, itself the arse end of West Lothian.

  Candy sat on a stained corduroy couch and hoisted up her T-shirt to loosen the front of her bra. She let a tiny baby attach itself to her nipple.