Heroes and Villains

by Ed James

  Jesus Christ. What a mess. Living out of binbags.

  And I’ve got a day of attending Lamb’s course and pretending everything’s normal and my life isn’t falling apart.

  Could be worse. Could be in Candy’s situation.

  Like there’s anything I can do to help her.

  And he was dressed, all except his left shoe. Sticking out from under the sofa. He reached down and a grey paw batted his hand. ‘Hoy.’ No claws, at least. Another hit and he grabbed the shoe. He slipped it on and laced it up, then made for the front door.

  Definitely needed at least four shots this morning.

  He turned to lock the flat door.

  A fist jabbed him in the kidneys and his cheek hit the door. Then someone hauled a bag over his head, rough canvas chafing his skin. Rougher hands yanked him down the stairwell, his feet tripping over each step, then out to the street and the rush of cold air on his neck. A strong arm wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him up and onward. Car tyres screeched inches away from his face, exhaust fumes washing over him. A door clicked open, muffled voices exchanged short commands, but his own ragged breath was deafening.

  The hands let go of him and he stumbled, his shoulder hitting something solid.

  ‘—king kill you, you—’ A shout blocked out the rest.

  Cullen reached up and tore off the bag, whipping his head around to catch his bearings. The harsh daylight stung his eyes, making him squint through the spots in his vision. Tears blurred his sight.

  And there was Hunter, head down like a battering ram, sprinting at him.

  WHAT THE FUCK?

  Cullen tried to run, fists clenched, loading up a big left. Fuck, fuck, fuck…

  But Hunter diverted his path, colliding with a massive guy in a black mask.

  Batman.

  Here?

  Shite. He’s after me?

  Cullen dropped to the ground and rolled left, away from the car, away from the men slamming into each other like a two-man scrum. He felt the thud before he heard it. His skull cracking off the kerb.

  Everything went black.

  ‘Hey!’ Slap. ‘Wake up!’ Another slap. ‘Scott, can you hear me?’

  Cullen opened his eyes. A towering figure bent over him, a shaved head leaning down low over his face. He flinched back, trying to squirm out from under the hulking stranger, striking out with flailing arms, bridging his back like a—

  ‘Scott!’

  Cullen froze. He was inside again, his hands resting on rough corduroy. ‘Craig?’

  Hunter was crouching in front of him. ‘Who the hell did you think I was?’

  ‘That… That guy with the black mask. He sucker-punched me. Dragged me outside to shove me in a car and…’ Cullen narrowed his eyes as the memory came back into focus. ‘You fought him off. Did you see who it was?’

  ‘No idea.’ Hunter straightened up on the couch, averting his eyes. ‘He jumped in the car and got away when I checked on you because you… knocked yourself out.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound like me at all.’ Cullen cocked his head, and the throbbing pain in his temples got even worse. He rubbed his sore head. ‘That pizza was rank, by the way.’

  Hunter plonked himself on the sofa. ‘You’ve got no taste.’

  ‘Were they definitely dressed like Batman?’

  ‘I’d say it’s more like Daredevil, to be honest.’

  ‘Dare-who?’

  ‘You don’t watch much Netflix, then?’ Hunter reached over for a phone, tapped at the screen and held it up. ‘Like this?’

  A man stood in front of a New York skyline, wearing a dark-red combat suit, just showing his mouth. Kind of like Batman, but red. And without the cape. ‘That’s what you saw?’

  ‘Without this.’ Hunter covered his mouth. ‘And you can thank me, you know?’

  ‘Sodding, sodding hell.’ Methven glanced from one to the other. ‘You’re serious?’

  ‘As serious as—’

  Methven’s phone rang. He picked it up and answered it with wild eyes. ‘Sorry, Carolyn, I promise I’ll call you back.’ He listened for a couple of seconds, then nodded. ‘Understood, and thank you very much. Five minutes.’ He put the phone down and leaned back on his leather desk chair, frowning at Cullen then Hunter. ‘Are you one hundred percent?’

  Cullen nodded. ‘I didn’t see him, to be honest. He was as big as the guy I fought in McLintock’s garden.’

  Methven just kept staring at him, his rapid thoughts evident in his flickering eyelids.

  ‘I got back and saw him shoving Cullen into a van.’ Hunter cleared his throat. ‘Just in time. Managed to fight him off. The guy was built. And he knew at least three martial arts I don’t.’

  Methven locked his gaze on Cullen. ‘Why did this assailant attack you?’

  ‘No idea.’ Cullen sat back in the chair. His head throbbed again. A self-inflicted knock-out. What an idiot. ‘The only reason I can think of is that I’ve been digging into the… angle we discussed.’

  Methven narrowed his eyes. ‘Oh?’

  Cullen motioned at Hunter. ‘Craig’s worked a Sexual Offences Unit case against Vardy. The only witness changed her mind and refused to testify.’

  ‘Which happened with our sodding case and Amy Forrest.’

  ‘Among many others. What’s worse, sir, is there’s women… Christ, there’s a ton of women… Look, we found another case where Vardy has fathered another child… by rape. Christine Broadhurst.’

  Methven groaned. ‘Candy.’

  ‘Right.’ Cullen paused to catch his breath. ‘The sick bastard relied on the fact they’d keep the babies, made them dependent on his low payments. And if they came forward, he’d cut off the child support payments.’

  ‘Makes my sodding blood boil.’ Methven looked at him with a stark coldness, then drew a sharp breath. ‘It’s easy to see how a frustrated policeman might have decided to take this case into his own hands, isn’t it?’

  Cullen pointed at his own chest. ‘You mean me?’

  ‘I don’t know. I could mean somebody else.’ Methven glanced at Hunter.

  Cullen wanted to throttle the prick. ‘It’s neither of us.’

  ‘Then who is it?’

  Cullen clicked his fingers. ‘Wilkinson.’

  ‘What? You can’t think—’

  ‘No, I don’t.’ Cullen groaned. ‘But Lamb said he was running a joint operation with Wilkinson’s team. Same story. Witness dropped off the face of the earth.’

  ‘So why am I only hearing about this now?’

  ‘I’ve had a lot on my mind, sir.’ Cullen got to his feet, fighting hard to ignore the dull throb at the back of his skull. ‘We need to speak to him.’

  Paula Zabinski looked up with a dark glower. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Charming.’ Cullen leaned over the desk and nodded over at the dark office behind her and its oppressive door-entry system that screamed GET OUT. ‘Wilko in?’

  She coughed when she saw Methven behind Cullen. ‘Sir.’

  Methven beamed at her. ‘Oh, hello there, Paula. You look well.’

  ‘And you look very dashing today, sir.’

  Methven’s face turned a deep purple. He cleared his throat with a tight cough. ‘Is DI Wilkinson in today?’

  ‘Nope. He said he’s working from home.’

  Methven’s face went blank, his voice a hoarse whisper. ‘He’s what?’

  ‘The sodding cheek of the man.’ Methven rattled over the cobbles into the heart of Dean Village, past rows and rows of stone terraces and two-storey cottages, thick green ivy growing into the eaves, even in February. ‘He’s a sodding policeman. He can’t just work from home.’ He glared out of the windscreen, railing at the passing picture-postcard scene.

  Cullen pointed out of the window. ‘Anywhere round here.’

  ‘Right, okay.’ Methven slammed on the brakes, forcing Cullen’s chest hard into the belt. ‘What the hell?’ Methven flew out of the door and raced along the street, fists clenched at his side.<
br />
  Christ on a bike.

  Cullen got out and jogged after him. Then stopped dead.

  Just down the street, two guys in black masks were beating the shit out of a man lying on the ground.

  Cullen hit the cobbles, running after Methven.

  Tyres screeched to a halt ahead of the melee. A red Porsche SUV, the driver’s eyes wide.

  A man raced past the car, heading for the fighting men.

  Wearing a Batman costume.

  30

  The stranger in the Batman costume chopped down the other two goons with sharp kicks to the backs of their knees, felling them like trees. He struck their heads with his elbows on the way down. They sprawled on the pavement, out cold, as the vigilante rounded on Wilkinson lying defenceless on the ground. He drew a long knife, the blade catching the cold winter light.

  Cullen raced over, knowing he couldn’t get there in time. The knife sliced high above the vigilante’s head and came back down.

  BANG!

  Methven smashed into the masked man, low and hard, taking him clean off his feet. The knife clattered on the pavement, and Methven drove his shoulder into the guy’s hip. The vigilante dug his heels in and dropped his weight, right on top of Methven, landing with a thud.

  The vigilante was up like a shot, twisting around in one smooth motion and racing off down the pavement.

  Cullen sped after him. After a few hard steps he was close enough to think about reaching him with a dive, but the vigilante was fast for his size, feinting this way and that. Batman put on a burst of speed and shot away from Cullen, clearing round a bend and disappearing.

  Cullen took the same turn and stopped. An empty close. The guy stood with his back to him, facing a garage door. Not a close, but a private driveway. A dead end, either way.

  Cullen caught his breath. Couldn’t speak. A strained moan came from behind. Cullen spun around. Methven was staggering towards him on unsteady legs, his pain as easy to see as it was to hear.

  Cullen turned back and caught a fist in his stomach. The breath left him in a retching hiss as he dropped to his knees.

  The man in black sidestepped Cullen and took a swift step towards Methven. Kicked him right in the balls. Hard. Methven sunk to his knees with a squeal.

  The vigilante took one last look at Cullen then disappeared around the corner.

  Wilkinson was sitting on the pavement outside his cottage, shaking his big head. ‘Did you get him?’

  ‘Does it sodding look—’ Methven winced, forcing himself to lean against the wall. ‘We sodding lost him!’

  ‘The pair of you! You had him outnumbered!’

  Cullen closed his eyes and swallowed bile. Then he opened his eyes. ‘Methven distracted me.’

  ‘I did no such—’

  ‘You did. I heard you wheezing like Darth Vader and—’

  ‘You let him get away. You pair of pricks.’ Wilkinson shot to his feet and stood over the goons lying on the pavement. ‘Who the hell is this?’

  Cullen just wanted to lie down next to them and go to sleep. ‘You believe me now?’

  Methven bent over with pain, hands on his knees. ‘I do.’

  What the hell do we do now?

  Wilkinson started kicking the goon. ‘Who the fuck are you? Eh?’

  Cullen stepped over and wrapped his right forearm around Wilkinson’s neck. ‘Stop it!’ He waited until Wilkinson went limp. ‘Let’s get these bastards to the nearest interview room.’

  Wilkinson flinched, his eyes flickering, his fingers flexing on the table top. Looked like he was worried what he might do to the lowlife who had kicked him when he was down.

  So Cullen took the lead. ‘Well then, Mr Gallagher, are you saying you’re not the mastermind of this operation?’

  Gallagher nodded, his moist jowls flapping. The flabby skin folds around his face and neck wobbled, like an obese pug at a feeding frenzy. His mate next door with Methven and Buxton looked much more of a fighter. He was the leader. Or the driver.

  Cullen leaned his elbows on the table and spoke into the microphone. ‘For the benefit of the recording, Mr Gallagher nodded. Why did you attack DI Wilkinson?’

  Gallagher looked him square in the eye. ‘Vardy.’ The answer was out before he could clamp his mouth shut. Wide-eyed, breathing hard, sounding close to hyperventilating. Then he gave up, slumping back in his chair. ‘We were upset, you know? Upset that you and…’ He jerked his head towards Wilkinson. ‘You got Vardy killed, so we wanted to get revenge. Nothing personal, like.’

  A knock on the door. DI Lennox stuck his head through, his gaze locked on Wilkinson. ‘Sir, a word outside?’

  Wilkinson hauled himself out of his chair.

  ‘Interview suspended at nine forty-six.’ Cullen got up and followed Wilkinson through to the observation suite.

  Lennox gave him a nod. ‘I’m very sorry, Paul, but my DCI says you need to be interviewed.’

  ‘I’m in the middle of one here, you pillock.’

  ‘You’re a suspect for the vigilante killings.’

  Silence.

  ‘But…’ Cullen raised his arms in the air. ‘The vigilante pulled a knife on Wilko. Would’ve killed him if,’ he looked at Methven, ‘if DI Methven hadn’t stopped him. Right?’

  Methven pursed his lips. ‘That’s one way of looking at it.’

  ‘What? But you were there. You saved Wilko’s life.’

  ‘I didn’t need any saving, you—’

  ‘Enough!’ Lennox cut through with a sharp cough. ‘This is why we need to establish exactly what happened. You can’t just haul people in for interview as you see fit. This is our case, so…’ He looked at Wilkinson and swept his hand in the direction of the door, like a gallant host at a dinner party. ‘Shall we?’

  Wilkinson clamped his mouth shut, straightened his suit jacket with a snap and marched out of the room.

  ‘I’ll be in touch.’ Lennox left them to it.

  Cullen watched the door shut. ‘Why did you lie to Lennox?’

  ‘Are you saying that DI Wilkinson can’t possibly be the vigilante?’

  ‘What? You were there, you saw—’

  ‘I saw Wilkinson get attacked by the two idiots in those rooms. For all we know, the fellow in the Batman costume could’ve been a stooge dressed to look the part of the Vardy murderer and thus take suspicion off Wilkinson.’

  ‘What? Why would—’ Cullen broke off. ‘You saw this vigilante, right? He was brutal. Exactly like the guy I fought.’

  Methven stiffened, his usually cold smile turning sub-zero in a heartbeat. He clenched his teeth. ‘Sergeant, this isn’t our case.’

  ‘Someone bloody attacked me! They tried to murder Wilko!’

  ‘And DI Lennox and his team will get to the bottom of the matter.’ Methven pulled himself up to standing with a tight wince. He put his hand in his pocket. ‘Now, I’m sending you back to where you should be.’

  ‘What? Yesterday you were all, oh let’s catch this guy. Now you’re—’

  ‘Purple sodding buggery, Cullen! Get back to sodding Tulliallan. Now!’

  31

  Cullen opened the door and shuffled to the back of the seminar room, head down.

  Lamb locked eyes on him, giving a slight shake of his head. Abject disapproval.

  Bloody Methven’s already got to him.

  Lamb turned to smile at a female DS from Dundee. ‘Now, Vicky, as you were saying?’

  ‘—suspect in for interview.’ Lamb stopped. ‘Am I boring you?’

  Cullen kept staring out of the window, over Kincardine to the Forth. ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘Really?’ Lamb exhaled slowly, then looked around the room. ‘It’s your job as sergeants to make sure you’ve got a solid basis for the interview. And it’s your responsibility to implement your inspector’s interview strategy. Now, those of you who want to progress to that level, you need to start drafting the strategy, ready for your inspector to revise and sign off.’

  Cullen’s phone buzzed
. Just once, meaning a text. He slid it out of his pocket and glanced at it under the table, checking that the great eye of DI Lamb was focusing on someone else. It was.

  The text was from Sharon.

  ‘I’m glad you’re okay with it being over. Maybe we can still be friends. In time. X’

  In time?

  Cullen felt empty. He stared at the screen until it went blurry, wishing their relationship had meant something – that those years hadn’t just slipped by.

  ‘Okay, tomorrow we’ll pick up on the latest techniques for post-Cadder lawyer management.’ Lamb clapped his hands, his smile cooling as his gaze settled on Cullen. ‘See you all tomorrow morning.’

  Cullen clocked a couple of Perth DSs filing out of the room, mouths twisted like they’d taken in about as much as Cullen had. Square root of bugger all. He followed them out, trying to figure out if there was any point in replying to Sharon’s message.

  But Lamb was loitering outside the classroom door, arms folded. ‘You okay?’

  The bruise at the back of Cullen’s skull was now a big lump. And a bloody sore one at that. ‘I’ll live.’

  ‘Fancy a cheeky pint?’

  ‘Eh? You just gave me a doing in front of the class and now you’re asking if I want a beer?’

  ‘Scott, if you’ve taken as many courses as I have, you’d realise that you need a friendly face to rip the pish out of. Half of that lot were asleep, the rest were too stupid to get the gist of what I was saying.’ Lamb patted his arm. ‘And there’s a good boozer in the village that isn’t full of cops.’

  ‘I’ve got the car.’

  ‘One won’t hurt.’

  The barman gave a sour smile when he saw Cullen approach. ‘Gentlemen?’

  Cullen tapped on the guest pump marked Paulaner Hefe-Weißbier Dunkel. ‘What’s that like?’