World's End (Cullen & Bain Book 2)

by Ed James

  ‘I don’t know what you’re getting at.’

  ‘It seems like you wanted him to suffer, maybe teach him a lesson.’

  ‘Of course I didn’t!’ Searle was pleading with Cullen now, but Cullen was giving him nothing back. ‘Look, those effing…’ He snarled out a sigh. ‘Head office insist that we check all staff when they clock off. And they insist we do it in a specific order. Guards and cleaners first as they’ve got the most to gain from nicking stuff. Not my fault that Phil was always last in the queue. Besides, if he hated this job so badly, he could’ve got another one.’

  Cullen leaned over to whisper in Angela’s ear, ‘Have we spoken to the guard?’

  ‘Bain did, I think.’

  ‘Right.’ And the little creep was still avoiding Cullen.

  Searle seemed like a petty little man, angry with the world, and his place in it. Whether he was just a malicious jobsworth or a murderer was another matter.

  ‘Take us through your movements last night, Mr Searle.’

  Searle looked at Cullen, his eyelids twitching. ‘I already did.’

  ‘Then it won’t be too difficult to remember, will it?’

  ‘Look I was with Chris here.’ He thumbed at his lawyer. ‘We’ve got a divorce hearing next week. Doing preparation, yadda yadda.’

  A cast-iron alibi. Maybe. ‘Sir, I’m going to need to ask you to leave.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re now involved in this case, so you can’t offer legal support to Mr Searle.’

  ‘Right.’ Leslie gave Searle a look that read “I’m sorry”.

  Cullen leaned in to Angela. ‘Can you get to the bottom of his alibi, please?’

  ‘Sure.’ She led him out into the corridor.

  ‘DC Caldwell and Chris Leslie have left the room.’ Cullen sat there with Searle, just the two of them and the digital recorder. ‘How long were you there for?’

  ‘Two hours.’

  ‘You didn’t think to mention this earlier.’

  ‘I’d just found a dead body!’

  ‘You told us you got the bus home.’

  Searle shook his head.

  ‘What did you do after?’

  ‘I don’t know!’

  ‘Earlier, you told us—’

  ‘The Liverpool game, aye. I watched that.’

  ‘And you couldn’t prove you were at home.’

  ‘What about if you checked my phone?’

  ‘Your phone isn’t part of you, sir. You could’ve left it at home, for instance, while you travelled to the supermarket to murder Mr Turnbull.’

  ‘Is this a joke?’

  ‘This is very serious, sir.’

  Searle scratched at his stubble. ‘Listen, I was drinking on my own, okay? Six cans of Brew.’

  ‘Brew?’

  ‘Carlsberg Special Brew.’

  The tramp’s friend. At least eight percent. Six cans was enough to get anyone where they wanted to go. No wonder he couldn’t remember the football or his divorce hearing. ‘Anyone who can vouch for you?’

  His scratching increased. ‘I probably texted some abuse to my ex-wife. Or hate posted on Facebook about her. Maybe on Twitter. You name it.’

  Again, it all came back to his mobile. ‘We might need to take your phone into evidence.’

  ‘Come on, man, that’s my life.’

  ‘All the same.’

  ‘Can’t you just get the calls and that off the network?’

  ‘We will, but we need the source machine to verify it.’

  With a huff, Searle reached into his pocket and passed his phone over. ‘I want a receipt.’

  ‘I’ll get you one.’ Cullen bagged it up. Not a fancy model, but good enough to allow WhatsApp and Facebook and Twitter. And to track his every movement.

  The door opened wide and DCI Colin Methven stood there, his wild eyebrows like antennas. He jerked his head out into the corridor and disappeared behind the closing door.

  Cullen leaned over. ‘Interview suspended at one fifteen.’ He pressed stop. ‘I won’t be long.’ He left the room and stormed out into the corridor.

  Methven was shaking his head, even before Cullen had spoken. ‘Purple sodding buggery.’

  Never a good sign. ‘What’s up, sir?’

  ‘Good to have DC Caldwell back.’

  ‘Isn’t it just.’ Cullen raised his eyebrows. ‘Did you speak to Super—’

  ‘Yes, he’s not related to this Turnbull.’

  ‘Well, that’s a relief.’

  Methven nodded slowly.

  ‘That all, sir?’

  ‘No.’ Methven huffed. ‘DCS Carolyn Soutar called on me to advise on a case in Dundee, as you know. I worked in Grampian for a number of years and had to go down to Bonnie Dundee on a number of occasions. But then Carolyn gets a call and DS Bain is…’

  Cullen got that familiar plunging in his gut. Time was it would’ve been waiting for a ridiculous bollocking from Bain over nothing, but now it was a ridiculous bollocking because of Bain. ‘What’s he done now, sir?’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Last I heard, he was at the supermarket, leading the staff interviews.’

  ‘So why the hell has Carolyn got a call complaining about his behaviour?’

  Cullen tried to swallow but his throat was tight. ‘I’ve no idea, sir.’

  ‘And this is precisely what I’ve been talking to you about. He’s toxic and you need to keep him on a tight leash.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll sort this out, sir. Can you tell me what he’s done?’

  7

  BAIN

  Changed days, I tell you.

  These forensics boys—SOCOs to me and you, CSIs to arseholes like Sundance—have a much shiter room than they used to have down at Leith Walk. Half the fuckin’ size for starters, meaning all their gear is rammed in tight, so it’s much harder to spot the fuckers when you need to chivvy them up.

  Still nobody here, so I take a seat behind Anderson’s desk and adjust the levers until it’s just right. Trouble is, I can’t get it just right. Fuckin’ nightmare this. No chance I can get it back to where it was either. Bugger it. I stand up again and lug my bag over my shoulder. The bargains in that place today, I swear. Cracking dinner tonight, I tell you.

  The door opens and Anderson’s standing there, stroking his goatee like the machines here are powered by a wanker rubbing his facial hair. He clocks my approach, though, and he shites his pants. Looks like he’s thinking of making a run for it, but nobody gets away from me that easily.

  ‘There you are.’

  ‘Aye, here I am.’ He’s half turned away, pretending to check the nearest machine for something, but the fuckin’ thing isn’t even on. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Wondering how you’re getting on, Jimbo. Hoping there’s some crucial wee piece of information you can share with me.’

  ‘I’ll share it with your boss, not you.’

  ‘Come on, Jimbo, we go back a long way.’

  ‘Aye, and if I want to keep my pension, I’ll need to side with the management here, not you.’

  Prick. ‘Remember how long we’ve been working together for.’

  His eyes narrow and he gets the fuckin’ message. I know where the bodies are buried and he knows what I know. He lets out a gasping sigh. ‘Brian, I’m backed up. Seven cases, all needing DNA profiles yesterday.’

  ‘But you’re working on it?’

  ‘My team are.’ Anderson hits some buttons on the console in front of him, though maybe it’s a panic switch for when he’s outclassed by someone far superior to him. ‘What are you working on, Brian?’

  ‘I’m management, as you know. Got my lads up at the supermarket, speaking to people while I drill down to the relevant detail.’

  ‘You’re cooking something up, aren’t you?’

  ‘Why would you say that?’

  ‘Because I know you.’

  ‘You want in on my scheme, don’t you?’

  ‘You’ll have to tell me first.’

&
nbsp; ‘Nae danger!’

  ‘So you are cooking something up. You never change, do you?’

  ‘Why should I change? I’m the—’

  ‘SERGEANT!’

  Fuck me hard and fast, but Sundance is charging across the lino towards us, fists clenched like he’s finally going to strike out at us. Fuckin’ magic if he did. Been a few times I’ve almost had the prick, but if he punched us… Oof. Maybe I should be using that angle, just goad the cunt until he snaps.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Come here.’ He grabs my jacket and pulls us away from Anderson, though the goateed fud is listening in on this. Like a nice radio drama for the boy. Maybe a podcast. Sundance leads me out into the corridor like I’m a wee dog, then into a meeting room. ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘You don’t want to know what I’m thinking, Scotty Boy.’ I dump my bag on the desk. ‘It’ll turn your insides—’

  ‘Listen to me! I was interviewing a suspect and DI Methven bashed down the door. Turns out you’d been upsetting people. After I warned you.’

  ‘You’ll need to be a bit more specific here on account of everyone getting offended by the most stupid fuckin’ thing these days.’

  He’s fuckin’ raging here, his face is almost the same purple as his tie. ‘You didn’t think to mention it to me?’

  ‘Didn’t want it to be a dead end, Scott.’

  ‘Who told you?’

  ‘DC Gordon got it off someone there.’

  ‘Elvis…’

  ‘See, I suppose it’s behind his back but you’re okay calling him—’

  ‘I’m not in the fucking mood, okay?’ Sundance looks like he’s going to swing for us. Just bring it! ‘If there’s anyone round here going to speak to DI McNeill, it should be me. Okay?’

  ‘Come on, it’s not like you never ran off on a wee cowboy—’

  ‘Shut up!’ His shouting gets Anderson’s deep attention through two shut doors. The bearded fanny is looking right at us. Doesn’t even turn away like any normal person would, either.

  Ah, perfect. Usually when two cops go at it, there’s never a witness but that fud hates Sundance as much as me. Time to turn up the fuckin’ heat. ‘I’m serious. I didn’t think you’d want to see her after she—’

  ‘Brian, I’m in charge of this case, okay? I’m your boss and when you or your team gets actionable intel, you make sure I’m the first person you tell. Okay?’

  ‘Keep your knickers on, Sund—’

  ‘I’m warning you. You’re on the verge of an action contract.’

  Fuckin’ prick. ‘You obviously weren’t listening to me, earlier. I’ve got friends in high places.’

  ‘I don’t care if it’s the First Minister or Jesus Christ. Nobody will save you.’

  ‘You’re saying Detective Chief Superintendent Carolyn Soutar can’t save me?’ Of course I’ve got a few wee things up my sleeve on that score.

  But it just bounces off the cunt. ‘Brian, take a long hard look at yourself. You’re about to get booted back to being a constable. Nobody is saving you.’

  ‘You want to take that risk, Sundance?’

  He seems to think about it, not that thinking’s his strong suit. Then he goes over to the door and opens it. ‘I do, aye. I’ve tried warning you nicely. I’ve even stuck up for you when nobody else would. So here you go, nastily. If you fuck anything else up, you’re getting demoted.’ He thinks he means it too. Thinks he has the power. ‘You’ll be lucky to still be a cop once they’re finished with you.’

  ‘They?’

  ‘DCI Methven is gunning for you.’ His mouth’s wide open and he’s pointing down the corridor. ‘Right now, I need you to prove that you can do what you’re told.’

  I pick up my bag off the table and wander over to him. ‘I’ll go and apologise to DI McNeill, Scott.’ Aye, and maybe get her to drop herself in it when it comes to taking that boy’s todger. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘No, you won’t. You’ll get back to the supermarket and manage the officers there. I’ll sort it out with Sharon.’

  8

  CULLEN

  Cullen wandered up from the Cowgate, still fizzing from the confrontation with Bain.

  Where did he get off?

  Cullen knew he could be a cheeky bastard at the best of times, especially at the worst of times, but Bain… Time was, Cullen would at least ask, then when he was told no, do it anyway. Bain didn’t even ask, just went ahead.

  His friend in high places too: DCS Soutar. She wasn’t exactly the biggest fan of Cullen, but at least she knew him from when he was a DC. And his recent rise to Acting DI must have been at least with her knowledge, if not explicit approval. So he was fine.

  Wasn’t he? If Methven was the sponsor of his recent rise, he needed to prove it. And test it.

  Cullen turned the corner and stepped under the World’s End Close sign into the dank alleyway. That familiar pong of beery urine mixed with moulding bin bags. The intercom was still smashed, possibly had even been fixed in the interim, maybe a couple of times, so he powered up the stairs and knocked on the door.

  Through the wood, Dido was playing a full blast, that song Eminem sampled. At least he knew Sharon was home. Just wasn’t answering the door.

  He thumped it again, harder this time, giving it his policeman’s knock.

  And it worked. She opened the door, eyes wide and scowling. She looked well, had even put on some healthy weight, and her new haircut suited her. ‘Scott?’

  After everything that had passed between them, he still smiled when he saw her. ‘Here to apologise, Sharon.’

  ‘You took your sweet time.’

  ‘Not about me. About Bain.’

  ‘Right.’ She stepped back and opened the door wide. ‘You better come in, then.’

  Cullen took a deep breath before venturing in. The place hadn’t changed much, but she’d been burning candles, vanilla and cinnamon, probably to ward off the spirit of Bain.

  Shit, he’d given them to her as a present for Valentine’s day a couple of years ago.

  She was in the kitchen, pouring out two cups of tea. ‘Perfect timing. It’s just brewed.’

  ‘Thanks.’ The bedroom and living room were filled with brown boxes. ‘You’re moving?’

  ‘Nice observation there, Sherlock. Yes, I’m finally moving.’

  ‘You know you can pay people to do that for you.’

  She looked up, and it was enough to stop Cullen from progressing it any further.

  ‘Ma-wow!’ As if on cue, Fluffy stood in the doorway, bellowing at Cullen.

  He crouched down and held out a finger for the cat to rub. Which the little sod actually did. He did his little dance, usually reserved for Sharon only, coiling his tail tight and zigzagging it. ‘He seems well.’

  ‘He almost died, Scott.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Had a condition where his bladder was full of calcium stones. He couldn’t pee.’

  ‘Christ. You should’ve told me.’

  ‘Should I.’ A statement, not a question. ‘You still take milk?’

  ‘Nah. Drink it black these days. Haven’t had milk for… ooh months now.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’ She passed him a cup, but kept her distance. ‘Why the hell have you kept Bain on?’

  Cullen hid behind his mug. Kept his gaze on Fluffy, prancing around at Sharon’s feet.

  ‘I heard Methven gave you the opportunity to get rid of him.’

  ‘That what you heard?’ Cullen laughed. ‘Methven said if I got rid of him, I’d lose a sergeant position in my team. As hard as it is these days, working these cases with only one sergeant isn’t much fun and Chantal’s away on a bloody hen week. Craig’s even mo—’

  ‘Even so. Having Bain must be like a minus two to your headcount. Sometimes it’s better to have an empty seat than let him sit in one.’

  ‘I know. Look, me and Crystal have agreed to get rid of him once I’ve hired a replacement. There’s a job posted, I’m interviewing. Once it’s f
illed…’ Cullen made a slit throat gesture.

  ‘Believe it when I see it.’

  ‘He didn’t tell me he was coming here.’

  ‘Right, so if you’d known, then you would’ve been the one insulting me?’

  Cullen laughed. ‘We’re not even going out any more, and you’re still giving me shit?’ He knew he shouldn’t have said it.

  But she didn’t react like he expected. She ran a hand down his arm. ‘Scott, I’m just trying to help, okay? I worked directly for him for six years. He’s toxic. If he’s not making an arse of something, he’ll be plotting against you.’

  Cullen took a drink of tea. Oily and fragrant. ‘Well, I’m equal to whatever he throws at me.’

  ‘Your funeral.’ Sharon looked away, sipping her tea. ‘How’s Yvonne?’

  So she knew, then? ‘Eve’s fine.’

  ‘You’ve got a pet name for her?’

  Cullen shrugged, losing himself in his teacup.

  ‘Are you living together?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘As in, no never or not yet?’

  ‘Living apart. Seeing each other a few times a week. I’ve got a flat in Leith.’

  ‘Near Craig’s?’

  ‘Actually Craig’s. Subletting it.’

  ‘He’s moved in with Chantal?’

  ‘You didn’t know?’

  ‘We don’t speak any more.’

  ‘Right. Well. I don’t know if me and Eve are serious or not.’

  ‘I thought I was in love with you.’ She held his gaze, sipping her tea. ‘Don’t fuck this up, Scott. And get rid of Bain.’

  Nice change of subject. ‘What did he say to you?’

  ‘How much do you know?’

  ‘Enough.’

  ‘Right, well, he insinuated that I was shagging that kid who died.’

  ‘Sharon, you know I need to ask, right?’

  ‘You shouldn’t ask someone that who’s holding a hot mug of tea.’ She held the cup high. ‘Of course I wasn’t.’

  ‘And there’s no evidence to suggest you were?’

  ‘Scott.’

  ‘Okay, okay. So this kid attacked you?’

  ‘Tried to. I mean, he was wasted. Like even worse than you when you pissed in that sink.’

  ‘Don’t remind me.’

  ‘Can’t do the time, don’t do the crime.’