by Ed James
"Good evening, Sergeant."
"Evening, sir," said Cullen. "I tried looking for you, but couldn't see you anywhere?"
Methven groaned down the line. "Got a dinner party tonight. I'm on dessert duties. Had to get a selection of cheese in and now I'm making baked Alaska. The whole thing is costing me an arm and a leg."
"Your wife earns a fair wedge, though," said Cullen. He didn't know how much he wanted to push it - Methven was easy to get a rise out of, but he was certainly one to lash out quickly.
"Give me an update," said Methven, sounding in no mood for banter.
Cullen briefed him - other than discovering Alex Hughes' death, the only real progress he'd made that day was with Stephens.
"And Bain is running the Hughes investigation," said Cullen, closing off.
"DI Bain?" said Methven. "Sodding hell. I'll need to strategise with Alison on this."
"You got off lightly," said Cullen. "You didn't have to speak to him."
"Going back to this band, then," said Methven, "they were offered a record deal and it was subsequently rescinded. Is that correct?"
"That seems to be the size of it," said Cullen.
"And you got nothing of this from the other members of the band?" said Methven.
"Not even a sniff."
"Interesting," said Methven. "You mentioned Strang felt under a lot of pressure. Could it be suicide?"
"You were at the post mortem," said Cullen. "I wasn't. What did Deeley reckon?"
"It was Sweeney, not Deeley," said Methven. "He just attended."
Cullen rolled his eyes. "What did she reckon, then?"
"That suicide was highly unlikely," said Methven. "Given the forensic evidence we subsequently obtained, it was upgraded to impossible."
Cullen was glad Methven couldn't see him making faces. "We could use it to our advantage with Bain. Suggesting it's not a murder would clearly separate the cases."
"No games here," said Methven. "We do things by the book."
"Bain will play games," said Cullen. "You know he'll ride roughshod over this, try to find some easy suspect and we'll have to stop him from getting up to God knows what."
"You're probably right," said Methven, "but I don't like to play that way. What other leads do we have?"
Cullen looked at his notebook. "I need to speak to the other two about this record deal. Having access to the Strathclyde files on this Hughes guy might be a good idea as well. Other than that, Strang comes from Dalhousie, which is where I'm from. I could do some more digging up there."
"It's an option," said Methven.
Cullen didn't know where else he could steer the conversation. "I'm going to write up where we've got to, then I'm going to head. Is that okay with you?"
"I'll let you decide, Sergeant."
"What's that supposed to mean?" said Cullen.
"You're a DS now, Cullen, I expect you to exert the judgment of one."
CHAPTER 34
In the end Cullen decided to finish typing up his notes before going home, figuring any evidence Methven had of him falling behind wouldn't be in his favour. He left the station just before ten, leaving his car in the garage.
He walked onto Leith Street, passing the Saturday night crowds leaving the Playhouse or piling into the club in the Omni centre. He didn't know the name of it - he'd only been to the cinema with Sharon a few times. He crossed Waterloo Place onto North Bridge, the bitter wind slicing through him.
He passed the smokers outside the Royal Mile pubs and wondered where his life had got to. Usually, he'd just be starting to get into his Saturday night stride, already mentally navigating the optimal route between bars and clubs, but instead he'd worked until ten. All because of the restructure and the dangled carrot of promotion.
Monday was the big day of reckoning, when the force would change for good. At the back of his mind was the fact he'd heard nothing. Aside from Methven's innuendo and pep talks, nobody had formally briefed him. He hoped no news was good news.
At the entrance to the close, he spotted a teenager pissing against the bins just behind the stair door.
Cullen called after him, making the ned hurriedly tuck himself in before running off. He shook his head as he unlocked the main door, counting the number of times he'd done something similar.
As he hung up his coat, Fluffy started bleating again. Cullen knelt down. "Are you a guard dog trapped in the body of a fat cat?"
The cat reared up and rubbed his chin against Cullen's finger.
"He's sensitive about his weight," said Sharon from the bedroom.
Cullen walked through. He kissed her on the forehead then sat on the edge of the bed.
"No kiss on the lips?" she said.
"I don't want to catch your germs," said Cullen.
Sharon smiled. "Believe me, I don't want you to catch it."
"How are you doing?"
She groaned. Her hair was lank and greasy and her eyes puffy. "I've been in bed all day, choked with this bloody bug. I feel terrible. I'm shivering. That's not good, is it?"
"Could be flu," said Cullen.
"I told you I've got the flu."
"Not what most people call a cold," said Cullen. "Actual flu, as in influenza."
"Pedant," said Sharon, smiling. "I'm supposed to be back in on Monday but I don't know if I'll make it." She grimaced. "This is the worst possible time to be sick."
"Take it easy," said Cullen. "The most important thing is to get well. People die of flu."
"Thanks. That's really cheered me up."
"Have you had your ginger bed friend while I've been away?" said Cullen.
Sharon grinned mischievously. "I've substituted one ginger for another."
"I'm hardly ginger," said Cullen. "Fuck's sake."
She held his hand. "I'm just joking. You're clearly dark blonde."
"My hair is brown," said Cullen. "My stubble might be ginger, but I'm never doing Movember. Happy to pay for the privilege, mind, but nobody wants to see my moustache."
"I forgot you were so sensitive about your colouring," she said, smiling.
"What have you been up to today?" said Cullen.
"Just reading. Chantal came round for a bit."
"Right, so you're the friend she was going to see," said Cullen, looking away.
"You don't need to keep an eye on her all the time," said Sharon. "You can trust her."
"I know," said Cullen, "but I needed to get an update from her in case Crystal wanted one from me."
"The joys of management," said Sharon. "I remember the time you used to report to me. Bain was a nightmare for knowing exactly what everyone was up to, especially you."
Cullen winced at the mention of the name.
"What's the matter?" said Sharon.
"You'll never guess who I bumped into today," said Cullen.
"Oh no," said Sharon, shutting her eyes. "Bain?"
"Got it in one," said Cullen. "He's working in Glasgow. Turns out he's heading up the Strathclyde murder squad. One of my leads lives through there, so me and Budgie went to his flat. He was murdered last week."
"That's just what you need," said Sharon.
"Tell me about it," said Cullen. "He's up to his old tricks again. It's like nothing happened." He laughed. "Oh, he's got a mail order Thai Bride now."
Sharon held her hand up to her mouth. "Oh my God."
"I hope laugher is the best medicine," said Cullen, "but I doubt it. I'm absolutely starving, can I get you anything?"
"I'm fine, thanks," said Sharon, settling back down against the pile of pillows behind her.
"Lemsip? Hot water bottle?"
"I'm fine, really," she said. "Just sort yourself out."
Sunday
31st March 2013
CHAPTER 35
Despite his exhaustion, Cullen had a poor night's sleep thanks to Marta Hunter, her kids and her drugs. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about them.
As he sat in Cargill's nine am briefing, he was already on his second strong Am
ericano of the day. There were very few in, just Cargill, Methven and Chantal, though the rest of the station was busy with uniformed officers.
Methven finished his update and Cargill's gaze shifted to Chantal, skipping Cullen. "DC Jain, can you give us your update, please?"
Chantal nodded. "Certainly, ma'am. I've got a few leads under active investigation. First, there's the screwdriver. I'm getting nowhere but I'll chase the vendor again if I have another day like yesterday."
She ticked something off on her pad. "Next, ADS Cullen asked me to look into Strang's workmates at the record shop. It's proving difficult as they were all casual labour." She gestured at the mind map on the wall. "I'm having to rely on whatever Beth Williamson tells me, which isn't ideal."
She turned to a new page in her notebook. "Next, I'm going to continue working through the flatmates."
"Fine," said Cargill. Her eyes locked on Cullen. "Sergeant, I need you to go through to Glasgow."
Cullen struggled to show anything other than abject disappointment. "Shouldn't I focus on Edinburgh?"
"DC Jain can cover," said Cargill.
"You know it's only a matter of time before Bain sees me as his resource, right?" said Cullen.
"I just want you to investigate from the Lothian & Borders perspective," said Cargill. "See if there is a connection or not. Alex Hughes is our only lead here. We need to find out if he knew anything about our guy."
"That'll be difficult without getting dragged into their case," said Cullen.
"Regardless, we do need a presence through there and I'm seconding you to the investigation."
Cullen looked out of the window. "Yes, ma'am."
"Dismissed," said Cargill.
Cullen stood there, stunned. Glasgow. He wouldn't be able to manage Chantal and Buxton from forty-odd miles down the M8. With Methven and Cargill taking a more active role, he was surplus to requirements.
He felt a hand on his shoulder.
"A word, Sergeant," said Methven, tugging him by the arm and leading him over to a corner of the emptying Incident Room. "I'm a bit disappointed with your attitude there."
"You know what Bain is like," said Cullen. "If it's just a case of me going through there and maybe finding some leads, then fine. You know what his agenda will be, though."
"Just go through their files," said Methven.
"It won't work like that," said Cullen. "DI Cargill has seconded me. That's it."
"Keep Bain at arm's reach," said Methven.
"Like you did?" said Cullen. He'd never seen Methven even attempt to keep Bain's excesses in check.
"You've been given a clear direction," said Methven. "Arm's reach."
"I thought I was supposed to be acting like a DS?" said Cullen. "I need to manage DC Jain."
"She's an adult and she can look after herself while you're gone."
"What did you mean about me acting like a DS, then?" said Cullen.
"You need to grow up."
CHAPTER 36
Cullen pulled into the Govan station car park, a familiar purple Mondeo following him in, parking a couple of spaces away.
Bain got out, beaming at Cullen as he walked over carrying a tray of coffees. "Nice to see you pitch up, Sundance. Didn't expect you'd actually show your face. We've been here for hours."
"Just following orders," said Cullen.
"Did you get any donuts for us from that new place?" said Bain.
Cullen shook his head. "It was queued right out to the M8. Besides, I'm not sure you deserve it."
Bain looked at Cullen's bottle green Golf, seventeen years old. "I would have thought someone who earned a DS's wedge would get a proper motor."
Cullen ignored the bait. "I need to review your case files for any correlation with ours."
"No, you don't," said Bain. "A little birdie called me and told me you're seconded to my investigation."
"That's not what I was told," said Cullen, avoiding eye contact as he lied.
"I don't care, Sundance," said Bain. "You're shadowing McCrea while you're through here."
"We keep going back to this," said Cullen. "I'm not under your control."
"You are an ADS, Sundance," said Bain. "I'm a DI, you're seconded to me. You're doing what I tell you."
"Just let me see the case files," said Cullen, fed up with him.
"You're shadowing McCrea."
"How about I get familiar with the case files while you have a word with Methven and conclude whatever 'pissing up the wall' contest you're playing?" said Cullen.
Bain looked Cullen up and down, grinning. "I always liked the way you do absolutely fuckin' anything to avoid taking orders."
Cullen bit his tongue, conscious of the stream of expletives that might flow out.
CHAPTER 37
By eleven, Cullen had taken pages of notes on the case. In the busy Incident Room, he'd put his earphones in and gone through the forensic report and post mortem before attacking the master case file.
The body was found by a police officer responding to complaints of noise raised by a neighbour. Alex Hughes was stabbed in the kitchen of his flat and left to bleed out, the kitchen knife found at his feet subsequently confirmed as the murder weapon.
Cullen looked at the summary notes he'd made of the post mortem. The coroner had ruled out suicide.
A suicide would show telltale signs - a particular angle of entry, markers such as wrist cuts from previous attempts and the likelihood of Hughes lifting up his clothes rather than stabbing through his t-shirt and cardigan.
The fresh wounds Hughes had were almost certainly defensive wounds, implying he was attacked.
The other angle was drugs. The blood toxicology report, open on Cullen's desk, noted traces of cannabis and opiates in Hughes' bloodstream. Cullen struggled to reconcile it with Marta Hunter's account - Hughes had ended their relationship because of her addiction. Yet, Hughes had traces of a similar drug in his system. Marta mentioned something about Hughes smoking heroin - it must have escalated.
Nagging in Cullen's mind was how Hughes managed to live in a one bedroom flat in an upmarket area of Glasgow, full of students and young professionals.
McCrea swung by, carrying two mugs of black coffee. He handed one to Cullen. "The gaffer said you were a fiend for the coffee."
Cullen took a sip. It tasted burnt with at least four spoonfuls of sugar. He couldn't work out if it was Bain or McCrea playing a joke. "Thanks." He pushed it to the side, determined not to touch it again. He tapped at the blood toxicology report. "Says there were opiates in Hughes' bloodstream. Is it heroin?"
McCrea nodded. "We think so."
"Injecting or smoking?"
"We think he mostly smoked the heroin rather than injected it," said McCrea, perched on the edge of the desk, pretending to inject into his arm. "That said, we found his works. Hypodermic needle, strap, spoon, lighter, the whole shooting match. Didn't find any gear, though."
"What about the knife?" said Cullen.
"We found a knife at his feet," said McCrea. "Part of a set he had in the kitchen. John Lewis's finest from about two thousand and four, came with the flat." He took a slurp of coffee. "They didn't find any fingerprints or DNA except the victim's."
"That's far from ideal," said Cullen.
McCrea shrugged. "It is and it isn't. It could be a professional job. We just don't know."
"What leads do we have?" said Cullen, immediately regretting the use of 'we'.
McCrea put his empty mug down. "Not a lot. It's nowhere near as bad as your case, mind."
"Any suspects?" said Cullen, almost grinding his teeth.
"None yet. Got a few irons in the fire. Nothing to trouble you with but we're not doing too badly."
"How could he afford a one bedroom flat in the West End?" said Cullen.
"Ooh, get you," said McCrea, grinning. "You know about the West End. The posh bit."
"I know Glasgow fairly well," said Cullen. "Plus, the knife is 'John Lewis's finest' as you said. That's no
t a cheap flat. Have you thought about it or not?"
McCrea smiled. "Aye, we have. It's nothing to write home about."
Cullen nodded slowly, disbelieving him. "I'm just about finished here. Can we go and have a look round the flat?"
McCrea tilted his head. "Don't see why not. The Scene of Crime boys have been through it a couple of times now and given us the nod."
"I hope your lot are as much fun as ours," said Cullen.
"Don't worry, they'll be a combined nuisance soon."
CHAPTER 38
Cullen was relieved to get inside Hughes' flat without being assaulted.
It was a lot smaller than Cullen had imagined, taking up a thin sliver of the building. There were only two rooms - a combined living room and kitchen with a separate bathroom overlooking the communal drying green at the back.
"We found him in the kitchenette there," said McCrea.
Cullen felt a pang - his gran used to call her kitchen that. She passed away in January and the wound still felt raw.
"Time was they all would have been a wee bedsit like this," said McCrea. "The rest of this block has been bought up and turned into bigger flats. Get a fair bit more money for it these days, especially round here. No idea why this is still a bedsit." He kicked a sofa bed, still unfolded. "Bloody SOCOs were supposed to pack that away when they finished."
An expensive-looking guitar and a small practice amp sat alongside. There was no TV or stereo, just a netbook on the desk.
McCrea pointed to the rolls of tinfoil in the kitchen area, supermarket own brand. "That's why we think he was a smoker."
"You're an absolute genius," said Cullen.
"Less of that," said McCrea. "The gaffer said you could be a bit of a cock. Normally, I'd be tempted not to believe him but I'll start siding with him if you keep that up."
"Thought you'd found his works?" said Cullen.
"We did, aye."
"And yet you think he chased the dragon rather than mainlining," said Cullen.
"Listen to you. Sounds like you've just read Trainspotting while listening to Spacemen 3." McCrea tapped his forearm. "There were very few track marks on the boy's arms. But there is a shitload of tinfoil. I'll let you work it out."