by Ed James
‘You need a hand pronouncing it?’
‘Just want a heads up if it tastes like cat’s piss.’
The barman bristled, a deep frown creasing his forehead. ‘It’s a very sophisticated little number. Comes to us all the way from the foothills of the Bavarian Alps and, oh my, does this beer come with a thick and creamy head. Aromas of toasted bread, caramel and—’
‘A pint of that, then.’
The barman’s frown disappeared in a flash as he started pouring, head down. The beer trickled into the glass like he was milking a metallic cow. He smacked his lips on the final spurt and frowned at Lamb. ‘Sir?’
‘Bottle of Punk, cheers.’
The barman headed to the fridges with an ambiguous smile playing around the corners of his meaty lips.
Lamb sat next to Cullen and leaned in close. ‘What. The. Fuck?’
‘You saw his shudder too, then?’ Cullen stretched his lips out, the only thing he could do to stop pissing himself laughing.
The barman came back from the fridge and handed Lamb his bottle.
Lamb swapped it for a tenner. ‘Keep the change.’
The barman topped up Cullen’s pint with another shudder. As promised, it did have a creamy head. Don’t want to think about that. The barman passed it over the bar and moved over to serve a group at the other end.
Lamb took a suck of his beer with a curious frown. ‘Beginning to regret leaving Tulliallan.’
‘Never mind.’ Cullen clinked glasses with Lamb, then perched on a stool at the bar. ‘To a speedy discovery of Batman’s identity.’ He took a hearty sip and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘That’s not bad, actually.’
‘So.’ Lamb took a sip from his bottle. ‘How are the Livingston lot getting on?’
‘They seem to be fitting up Wilko.’
‘What?’ Lamb shook his head. ‘Wilko? The guy’s a shambles. Living a double life as a vigilante takes a lot of organisation, never mind the physical fitness he clearly hasn’t got.’
‘Like you?’
‘I wish this was muscle.’ Lamb patted his flat stomach. ‘The amount I drink, I’d fall arse over tit doing any of that kung fu shite.’ Another swig of beer. ‘I fancy someone like Hunter. Maybe even Methven.’
‘Shut up.’
‘Serious. All those triathlons. He does krav maga. Not that it stops him getting booted in the goolies all the time.’
Cullen nodded. ‘Craig does that too. Krav thingy.’
‘See? Loads of suspects. But not Wilkinson.’ With a thoughtful look in his eyes, Lamb drained his bottle. ‘Right, I need to love you and leave you.’
‘What? We’ve only just got here?’
‘Got to get home to see the kids before they go to bed.’ Lamb buttoned up his jacket. ‘Toodeloo, amigo.’
Cullen watched him leave. God knows where he finds the energy for his banter, and his parenting, and his marriage, and his daily gym visits.
He stared into his pint, barely dented.
Left holding the baby.
Maybe I need to make a few changes in my life, now that Sharon’s made the big one for me.
He got out his phone and stared at her message. So hard not to read everything into those words.
The door opened again.
Lamb, returning with some Columbo shite.
But it wasn’t Lamb.
Yvonne walked across the pub, oblivious to the leering looks of the elderly perverts watching her every step. She sat on the empty bar stool next to Cullen, like it had her name on it. Like they hadn’t parted on awkward terms. Like she hadn’t been investigating him for being a bloody vigilante. Like it was the natural thing to do to lean in close, place a tender hand on the back of his hot neck and whisper into his ear, ‘Bill said I’d find you here.’
‘That bloody—’
Her hand tightened on his collar. ‘Is it true you were attacked?’ She leaned back far enough to acknowledge his nod. She caressed his scratches and gazed deep into his eyes. ‘I looked for you in the bar last night.’
Cullen cleared his throat with a self-conscious cough. ‘Truth is, Sharon and I broke up. I’m staying on a mate’s couch for the foreseeable.’ He glanced away, every inch the romantic failure. ‘Sorry, but I—’
‘Shh.’ She touched his cheekbone. Then kissed him.
And kept kissing him.
Cullen was still panting, his penis aching as he removed the condom. Some semen leaked on his hand as he tied it up and wrapped it in a hankie.
Yvonne drew the duvet over her naked body, as cold and hard and remote as the moon shining through the glass.
What the fuck?
He gazed at her in that white light and he felt a chill, and it had nothing to do with the draft coming from the window. ‘You okay?’
She craned her neck to look at him. ‘I’m just scared.’
Cullen sat up. ‘What did I do?’
She averted her eyes. Then rolled away from him. ‘Nothing. Just… The last time… You didn’t even remember what we did.’
‘Hey.’ He shuffled over to her and spooned into her back, his flaccid cock touching her buttock, wrapping his arms around her, his hand on her smooth belly. ‘I won’t forget this time. Believe me.’ He took a deep breath, pinning his stare at the duvet bunched up on her hips. ‘I was a total dick back then. You must’ve had a screw loose to go to bed with me.’
‘Or three bottles of wine in my stomach.’
‘Just three?’ He laughed. ‘I’m serious. I mean, we hardly knew each other and it pissed off Craig. And I’ve just come out of a relationship that never stood a chance because, if I’m honest, I don’t think Sharon and I ever loved each other, and now I’m rambling, I know, but I just want to reassure you that I’m not the same idiot I was back then, and who would want to share their life with an idiot who—’
‘Listen.’ Yvonne shuffled round and stared at him. ‘Let’s take this one day at a time, okay?’
‘Right.’ Cullen collapsed onto the bed, his damp hair sticking to the pillow. ‘It’s not easy.’
‘For you or me?’
‘I was meaning me.’
‘You’re the last man I had sex with.’
‘Shut up.’ Cullen frowned at her, but she looked deadly serious. ‘Really?’
‘I mean, I’ve been with like ten women in that time.’
Cullen felt his gut flutter. ‘Do you think that’s funny?’
‘Don’t you?’
‘Are you joking?’
‘Yes, Scott. Well, about the women. Not about the men. Why?’
‘A few years back, I found out that—’ Cullen shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter. But I’m surprised it’s been that long for you.’
‘You think I’m a slag?’
‘Hardly. It’s just… You know.’
‘What, you think I look sexy so I could just fuck anyone?’
‘I mean, you’re smart and funny and anyone would be lucky to have you.’
‘Right.’ She bit her lip. ‘Don’t get me wrong. I’ve had dates and drunken fumbles and stuff. But there’s something that’s stopped me taking it any further.’ She just looked at him for a few long moments, warm and friendly but no more than that. ‘I wanted someone who I could see myself being with.’
‘You can see yourself being with me?’
She grinned. ‘One day at a time, but yes. I see myself being with you, you big weird failure.’
He laughed, loud, but it was cut off by her biting his bottom lip. She straddled his hips, grinding herself into his abdomen, biting and kissing and reaching over for another condom.
Friday
17th February
32
‘Why so tongue-tied?’ Yvonne grinned at him over her coffee mug. The Tulliallan canteen buzzed around them with early-morning chatter, a curtain of noise keeping the world out.
Cullen peered back at her over his own cup. The two Dundee detectives firing into their breakfast at the next table seemed oblivious,
but this was the worst possible place for a secret workplace romance. ‘You know exactly why I’m tongue-tied.’
The mug blocked her mouth.
He sneaked a few glances over both shoulders before leaning across the table and lowering his voice even further. ‘Fancy a drink after the course?’
‘Wish I was doing the course, Scott.’ She kept the smile in her eyes but started shaking her head. ‘I’m full-time on that Vardy–McLintock case. You’re lucky I got away when I did last night, otherwise…’
‘Any news?’
‘You know I can’t talk about it…’
‘You don’t think I’m a suspect, do you?’
Yvonne leaned back and crossed her arms, her lips tight. ‘Are you only interested in me because—’
‘God no.’ Cullen raised his palms, unsure where to look as her stare became even harder. ‘I meant your team must know enough to clear me of suspicion and—’
‘Scott, I can’t talk about it. We’ve handed that side off to Professional Standards and Ethics. But the way you’re going, I might have to report you. If I told you which suspects we’ve taken from the list, it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out who we’ve got in our sights and… I don’t want to create a conflict of interest for you so—’
Conflict of interest? ‘What do you mean—’
‘Right, back to work.’ She got up from the table. ‘I’ll maybe see you tonight. Maybe.’
‘Okay.’
Cullen’s phone lit up on the table. A text, and if it was notifying him it meant it was Methven.
‘THE TEACHING STAFF FOR TODAY’S FINAL SEMINAR SERIES HAS CALLED IN SICK, SO THE COURSE HAS BEEN CALLED OFF. ST LEONARDS NOW.’
Cullen followed Yvonne into the St Leonards Incident Room. ‘So, let me know when you finish, aye?’
The slyest wink, then she set off towards the desks at the back, where Lennox and the Livingston MIT lurked.
‘Not so fast, Sergeant Flockhart.’ Methven blocked her path. With a click of his tongue, he held out a sheet of paper. ‘There. I knew we’d get a match.’
Cullen glanced at Yvonne, then at the paper Methven was holding in front of his nose. ‘What are you talking about, sir?’
Methven stared at Cullen, wide-eyed, waving the paper around. ‘This!’
Cullen took it and scanned the header. ‘DNA results?’
‘Well done, Sergeant. You can read.’
Cullen kept studying the report. ‘You have a match on a tissue sample to a Jason Gallagher.’ He looked up. ‘Why does that ring a bell?’
‘He’s one of the goons who attacked DI Wilkinson.’
‘Right. The one I interviewed.’
‘Quite.’ Methven snatched the page back and passed it to Yvonne. She didn’t take it. He snorted. ‘Mr Gallagher was arrested for a string of housebreakings in Colinton and Murrayfield ten years ago. And he was stupid enough to leave a skin flake on the gun he used to kill Sammy McLean.’ He paused, frowning at Cullen. ‘Our witness in the murder of Xena Farley. The reason Dean sodding Vardy was bailed.’
Cullen got that sickening tightness at the pit of his stomach. ‘Has anybody found Amy Forrest yet?’
‘Amy Forrest…?’ Yvonne shot Cullen a curious glance. ‘Excuse me, but who is Amy Forrest?’
Methven skipped over to his desk and started sifting through his files, a dour look on his face. ‘She’s where it all started… going to testify against Vardy… honey trap… of course it went south and her friend Xena got killed… oh, and he raped her and she had the kid.’
Yvonne gawked at Cullen. ‘There’s another witness who went to ground?’
‘Are you hard of hearing, Sergeant?’ Methven lifted his laptop to peer underneath.
Yvonne pinned the laptop down with both hands. ‘Why has nobody mentioned her to us?’
‘How should I know?’ Methven looked up from his paperwork. ‘That wasn’t my sodding case.’
Yvonne bit her tongue. ‘Right.’
Methven turned back to his stacks of papers and resumed his search as though she had already left.
Dismissed.
Cullen took the hint and gestured for her to follow him. He sat at one of the free desks at the far side of the room and logged in to the desktop computer.
She leaned against the desk, eyes fixed on the varnished wood. ‘Is he always like that?’
‘This is him on a good day.’ Cullen searched through the case file on the computer and found what he was looking for. ‘Yvonne, tell me you’ve seen this?’
She was still focused on the desk. ‘Such a prick.’
‘Look at this.’ Cullen pointed at the document open on the screen. ‘Amy’s disappearance is logged in the case file.’
‘Wait, so you’re defending Methven now?’
‘No.’ Cullen slumped back in the seat. ‘Look, we had a few leads on her, I swear.’ And it hit him.
The text, saying she hadn’t killed Vardy.
I sent it to the phone squad for analysis and haven’t heard anything back.
‘It’s not here.’ Cullen clicked and searched but drew a black. ‘Someone should’ve added the telephony report. Let me see who… Oh, shite.’
She leaned down to get a better look. ‘What?’
‘Gimme a sec.’ Cullen got out his phone and dialled a favourited number. Listening to the ring tone. ‘Come on, come on.’
‘Scott, who are you—’
‘Alright, mate, what’s up?’ Buxton, yawning. Sounded like he was outside, somewhere windy, which didn’t narrow it down any. ‘Thought I saw your car in the—’
‘You free to talk?’
‘Shoot.’
‘Alright, I’m going through the case file on Amy Forrest’s disappearance. Did Tommy Smith get back to you on the phone search?’
‘Tell me about it.’ The heavy clump of him climbing a staircase. ‘Why does he want a boy from Hammersmith to join his Scotch Poetry Club?’
‘Si, why is the report not in the file?’
‘What?’ Buxton stopped walking, his voice rattling round a tight space. ‘I filed it and opened an action.’
Cullen switched windows and scanned the list of open actions. ‘Si, it’s not here. Did you close it?’
‘This is what happens when you get a lowly DC to do your bidding, know what I mean?’
Cullen opened up the closed list. There. Completed, no further action. He tapped on the audit record. DC Simon Buxton. ‘Si, it says you closed it.’
‘That’s bullshit.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m fucking sure. Are you saying I bungled this?’
‘I’m asking if it’s maybe slipped your mind, that’s all.’
‘Well you can fuck off.’
‘It says no further action.’
‘Well, that’s bollocks. Look, I told Lamb and Methven about this. Wilko was there too. This is utter bullshit!’
Need to get him to bloody focus. ‘Si, what was the lead?’
‘Tommy found a few calls from that phone. Matched it to a cell site in Dalry. You’ll never—’
‘Dalry?’ Cullen’s grip tightened on the phone, as Yvonne’s glare tightened on him. ‘Jesus, Si, you should’ve—’
Buxton’s footsteps stopped. ‘Get over yourself.’
‘Look, Si. Whatever. We’ll tidy this up later. Who was Amy calling?’
‘You think someone altered the record?’ Yvonne got out onto Lothian Road. ‘Really?’
‘That’s way above our pay grade.’ Cullen joined her on the pavement and walked through the throng of morning commuters, almost bumping into a thickset man and his pre-school son as they marched along the road. ‘You’d have to be at DI level to have the clearance to alter the record, but it would still show on the audit trail.’
‘Unless your mate just mishandled a lead.’
Cullen stopped walking. ‘Sorry, but I trust Si Buxton.’
‘So you’re choosing between an implausible excuse for incompetence or
a conspiracy theory?’
Cullen frowned. ‘Hanlon’s Razor, right?’
‘Hanlon’s what?’
‘Never attribute to malice that which can be adequately explained by stupidity. Or incompetence.’
‘That’s my point.’
‘Well, Si’s not incompetent.’
‘Scott, if you’re protecting him that’ll look bad on you.’
‘I know, but… You guys are investigating this as a police officer committing vigilante retribution, right?’
Yvonne started walking again. ‘Right.’
‘Well, this fits. A good cop opened an action on HOLMES – a credible lead against finding a witness against Vardy. And someone covered it up.’
‘Or Buxton made an arse of it.’
‘I’ll accept that once we’ve got to the bottom of it.’ Cullen stopped outside the strip joint – even more depressing in the morning gloom. The neon pole dancer in the front window was switched off – robbed of her glowing promise. He stepped around the over-stuffed bins on the kerb and knocked on the door. ‘This place makes me sick.’
Yvonne was peering inside. ‘I quite like a good titty bar.’
‘What?’
‘Of course I don’t.’ She laughed. ‘What’s up with you?’
‘I just have a problem with lesbians.’
‘What the fuck?’
‘It’s nothing like that.’ Cullen bit his lip. ‘Look, my ex. Jesus, I never thought I’d say that… Sharon, she had a fling with a woman, before we got together. Made me question a few things about her.’
‘Sounds like you were right to.’ She caressed his arm, her brow knotted with concern. Then she was all business again, her forehead smooth. ‘It’s the punters I feel sorry for. Lonely posties and oil-rig workers. All confused by these lovely ladies coming up to them, rather than the other way round.’
Movement inside. The closed sign shifted to the side and a pair of beady eyes peered out. That bouncer, Kenny, or the other one, grunting as he clocked Cullen. The door flew open and the lumbering Neanderthal stepped out onto the street – his arms looking even more inflated, almost ready to burst. ‘What?’
‘It’s Kenny, right?’ Cullen smiled like he was greeting an old friend. ‘Just wondering if Katie Douglas is in?’