Gore Glen (Cullen & Bain Book 4)

by Ed James

  ‘From what I gather, he’d asked Isobel to access them but she refused. When he found out about her and me, he got me to ask. I tried, but she said no. They’re hidden under a rose bush she particularly likes.’

  ‘But now she’s dead?’

  ‘Well…’

  Elvis rests a page on the table, face up. ‘Wayne got in there yesterday.’

  Rob barely looks at it.

  ‘Bastard, eh?’ Elvis laughs. ‘Knew you were downstairs and he let you rot?’

  ‘Aye…’

  ‘So why you, son? Surely your use expired when you couldn’t get hold of the pills? He did it himself when he knew she was dead. So why you?’

  ‘I know a guy.’

  ‘You know a guy?’

  ‘At my gym. Used to deal steroids and … other stuff. He knows how to shift pills. I was to give him the drugs, and get the money back.’

  Ya dancer.

  I lean over to Elvis. ‘Keep him talking. I’ll see what his mate’s got to say about all this shite.’ I grab his shoulder on the way up, not to support myself, just to show there’s no animosity here, and also that, well, that’s how you do it, you clown.

  I leave the pair of numpties to it, and I could whistle as I stroll along the corridor towards the room Cullen and Shepherd are in. But that would be unprofessional, and Brian Bain is nothing if not a pro.

  I open the door and stand there, soaking it in.

  The smell of fear in both interviewee and the interviewing cops.

  Is he going to get done?

  Are they going to make a mess of this?

  Oooh, the suspense is killing me.

  ‘How many times do I have to go over this? I wasn’t there when you say I was, and you can’t prove I was.’

  I slip in like a ghost, except not like passing through stuff and all that ghosty lark, and lean against the back wall.

  Let them all stew, cops and suspect.

  Let them all wait.

  I keep the timestamped printout to myself.

  ‘Sure.’ Shepherd’s a cool cucumber, isn’t he? Actually, I could do with something like that for my nadgers. ‘Except for the fact that three serving officers stated your presence at the property, as does Marta Wislowska.’

  That’s her name. Marta.

  Leonard’s frowning at us, the only one of the three to pay any attention. ‘Marta who?’

  Shepherd laughs. ‘You saying you don’t know the name of the woman you had tied up in your bedroom?’

  ‘If there was a woman there, then it’s nothing to do with me.’

  ‘Why are you still denying this?’

  ‘Because I had nothing to do with any of it.’

  ‘You didn’t find Marta on a website called “Zbigniew Boniek” fan club? Hope I’m pronouncing that right.’

  ‘Who’s he?’

  ‘Footballer. Played for Juve in the eighties.’

  ‘More a rugby man.’

  ‘Same here. Had to google the name. But that website is known to our vice squad. Good way to meet Polish prostitutes.’

  ‘Take your word for it.’

  ‘So you’re saying you didn’t arrange to meet Marta on that site?’

  ‘No.’

  As much as I say Cullen is a useless bastard, as often as he proves it, this time he must know the game’s afoot, as he swings round to look at us, frowning, then gives us a wee nod.

  Enter centre stage, Brian Bain. I pass that nod on to Wayne Leonard. Here goes. I shuffle over to the side of the table as fast as my ruptured scrotum will allow, and slide the page across the scored wood. ‘You didn’t collect her from the car park at the Ashworth’s supermarket in Eskbank?’

  Leonard doesn’t even look at it. ‘Did I hell.’

  ‘Okay, but you did push DCI Colin Methven over the banister in your house, right? You seem to have broken his spine.’

  ‘Wasn’t me.’

  Shepherd sits back, arms folded. Boy gives away too much, doesn’t he? ‘Must’ve been a wee bit of a shock to find out Isobel was dead, right?’

  ‘Eh, right.’

  ‘I mean, you’d known it was her for a while, eh? That mask she wore didn’t fool you.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So, when you learnt that she’d died, how long did it take for you to get down to Stow?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  I reach into my pocket for the other bit of paper Eva gave me, the ANPR results. ‘Took a wee drive this morning, didn’t you? Obviously before you went to the big Ashworth’s in Eskbank, you had a nice wee drive down to Stow.’

  ‘I was going fell running up in the hills.’

  ‘Right.’ I rest the pages between Cullen and Shepherd on the desk. ‘Weird how there’s a security camera catching you parking on the main road, then walking up Church Wynd.’

  That’s shut him up. I like to call it the quiet before the storm. When they’ve realised they’re scubbed, but they can’t own up to it yet. It’s delicious, quite frankly.

  ‘You want to tell us why you were there, Mr Leonard?’

  Last thing he wants to do. He’s quiet and staying that way.

  I tap the page, him walking like one of the seven dwarves hi-hoing his way to work. ‘Why the spade?’

  He’s going a wee bitty red here. Oh, the poor wee lamb.

  ‘Way I hear it from a little birdie, you were digging to get at some stuff buried in her garden.’

  Leonard’s scratching at the stubble on his chin. Bullshit artist. And here comes another masterpiece. ‘I left something there when I moved out.’

  ‘In 2008?’

  ‘Yes, but the item was buried in 2005. It had tremendous sentimental value.’

  ‘What was it?’

  Boy goes quiet again. Not even chucking paint off a canvas, so much as painting a Rembrandt.

  ‘It wasn’t a load of sex pills, was it?’

  Nailed. He’s looking right at us, though. Can see it in his eyes — he knows he’s scubbed, and he knows just how scubbed he is.

  ‘Why bury them?’

  ‘They were worthless.’ Leonard sits back with a sigh. ‘Paid a ton of money for them, but then they became illegal. All that legal highs stuff? People couldn’t get prosecuted because the individual pills weren’t illegal, but then they flipped it so everything was illegal unless otherwise stated. So I had to get rid of them. It was part of my later financial troubles.’

  ‘So why dig them up? Why get Big Rob to fence them?’

  ‘Because I’ve heard someone was selling them as anti-5G pills.’

  Cullen’s ears prick up now. ‘These are hydroxychloroquine?’

  ‘Nope, but people will buy any old shite if they think it’ll help. So my Mexican sex pills are worth a packet now. Way more than back then.’

  ‘So you broke in and took them?’

  ‘Right. But they were mine. My property.’

  ‘Did you kill her?’

  Leonard frowns. ‘It’s not as simple as that.’

  ‘Enlighten me.’

  ‘I’d asked Isobel to get them back. Even offered to pay, but she wouldn’t… She wouldn’t… It’s partly a control thing with her, so I begged. That didn’t work.’

  ‘And she didn’t take the money?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Okay, so let’s cut the crap. Who killed her?’

  ‘It was part of her fantasy. You see that cave, it’s like an altar. She was lying on there while I was thrusting at her, like she was being sacrificed. All the while, Ryan Marshall was working away at her ex-husband. That was the biggest turn on for her, I think. Seeing him suffer like that, but the glimmer of hope… But I could see how angry the whole thing was making Dawn.’

  ‘Dawn Marshall?’

  Wayne nodded. ‘Isobel started to love being choked while we go at it. It’s the only way she can … get there. Dawn was doing the honours, but she didn’t stop. Didn’t heed the safeword. Just kept going.’

  Jesus Christ. These people. I mean, consenting adults and th
at, but man alive.

  21

  ‘Sundance, you look like you’re wearing someone else’s shoes and just found that they’ve shat in them.’

  Cullen couldn’t bring himself to even look at Bain. ‘Says the man who is still wearing dog shit.’

  ‘Eh?’ But Bain was checking over his wrists and sleeves. ‘Ah, Christ’s sake. I’ll never be clear of this!’

  Cullen couldn’t enjoy Bain’s misery for long. ‘I thought it was Leonard who killed her. Just couldn’t figure out why.’

  ‘We all did, Scott.’

  ‘Right.’ Cullen looked down at his shoes, and it did feel like they were someone else’s. ‘Letting those two arseholes live out their weird murder fantasy? And just standing there while they killed her?’ He couldn’t taste or smell anything, just like when he had Covid-19. He took a deep breath, but only had a slight rattle in his chest. ‘I mean…’

  ‘You can thank me, you know?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘For solving the case. Again.’

  ‘Come on, that was Eva and Paul’s work. Not yours.’

  ‘Aye, but I pieced it together. And I got that big galoot talking. Then I showed how to get in there and get Leonard talking.’

  Cullen stared at him, and it felt like he was looking at an alien life form that nobody had encountered before. Some completely different way of seeing things, of processing things. And yet he’d encountered this strange beast so many times before. Way too many times. ‘You left a crime scene.’

  ‘Going to hold that against us, are you?’

  ‘There were two injured officers present. And a woman tied up in the bedroom.’

  ‘Scott, this case would be wide open if I hadn’t tailed the boy!’

  ‘Stop shouting.’

  ‘Okay, but you need to listen to me here. I’m the man on this case.’

  Cullen couldn’t help himself from laughing. ‘You’re the man?’

  ‘Aye. The. Man.’

  Another laugh, but one that caught in Cullen’s lungs. ‘Right.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  Cullen stared deep into those insect eyes. ‘Ever since I first worked with you, you’ve been an arrogant sod, always thinking you’re the best. Everyone else is the worst. I’m sick of it, and I’m sick of you.’

  Bain laughed. ‘Well, it won’t be long until I’m not your problem.’

  ‘You’re leaving?’

  ‘Nope. You are.’

  ‘Shut up.’

  ‘Serious here. Big Luke Shepherd is investigating you.’

  That chilled Cullen’s marrow. ‘What?’

  ‘Boy’s been asking all about you. I mean, someone’s airing your dirty breeks in public on that Secret Rozzer podcast.’

  Cullen winced. ‘I know it’s you.’

  ‘Well, you’ve lost the plot, ‘cos that is nothing to do with me.’

  ‘You’re lying.’

  ‘Nope, but I have listened to it. Maybe even devotedly.’ Bain licked his lips slowly. ‘And you of all people should know not to accuse people of telling stories about you, especially when those stories are not good ones to be associated with.’

  Cullen felt short of breath, like he was stuck in the depths of his illness.

  ‘I mean, it’s fictionalised, isn’t it? Johnny Public won’t know who it is, but anyone who knows Scott Cullen will recognise enough in it, and they will know you’re dodgy.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Sundance, you fuckin’ are. And Shepherd is here to take you down.’

  ‘Are you seriously denying that it’s you?’

  ‘Of course I am.’

  ‘If it’s someone else, you’ve given them info, haven’t you?’

  ‘Get over yourself, Scott.’

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘I don’t know know, but I have a good idea.’

  A lot of shit had been leading up to this point. Cullen wanted to lamp him, wanted to grab his wrist and twist his arm behind his back, even if it was covered in dog shit. He wanted to force Bain to the floor and get him to admit he was the Secret Rozzer.

  But could Cullen ever believe him?

  No, and someone like Bain took great care in embroidering and watermarking their stories so he’d know where they came from, who had been talking.

  Cullen knew he couldn’t win here. He pointed down the corridor. ‘The rest of the team are having some drinks in the Incident Room. Head there if you think you deserve it.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  22

  Who does that prick think he is?

  You’ll see?

  You’ll see?

  You’ll see?

  You’ll see?

  I slam the fire door, but it just does its slow shutting thing. Christ’s sake.

  As much as I wish I was doing that podcast, it’s not like I even can. Elvis has all that technical knowledge, worked all the magic. I was just the talent, the hero of the hour who people flocked to.

  And it’s not like Elvis is even speaking to me anymore, so I’m absolutely snookered. No, I’m scubbed.

  The last few months, I’ve been pussyfooting around a bit too much. Wanting to nail Cullen, get him kicked off, but I made a right mess of that, especially when his Acting DI gig got made full-time, and the prick got me demoted.

  Oh yes, Sundance needs to get taken down a peg or three.

  So, here goes nothing.

  I get out my moby and find the number. “Break in case of emergency”.

  Well, Past Me had a sense of humour that Current Me doesn’t have. Hopefully Future Me will look back on this pair and smile.

  I hit dial and wait, then peek around the corner.

  The Incident Room is looking pretty rammed already.

  Can see Buxton and his love truncheon through the open doors, clutching a glass. Wee Eva Law comes out and gives us a wave.

  I wave back.

  ‘Carolyn Soutar’s office, Elaine speaking.’

  ‘Elaine, it’s your favourite Edinburgh cop.’

  ‘DC Bain.’ She needs to practise hiding that groan.

  ‘Is Her Ladyship around?’

  ‘No, she’s out of the office all afternoon. Apparently an officer was involved in a serious incident in Midlothian.’

  ‘Aye, I was there. Wanted to share a few details about it.’

  ‘Sure she’ll appreciate it.’

  ‘I need to speak to her tonight.’

  She pauses. ‘Okay. I’ll get her to call you.’

  ‘Cheers.’ I end the call and actually feel a few stone lighter as I walk over to the Incident Room. Bliss.

  Eva holds out her pack of ciggies for us. ‘Want a smoke outside?’

  ‘I’m fine.’ And I should head inside and get a pint of turps, but I stay here with her. ‘How you doing, Eva?’

  ‘Bored.’

  ‘Working for Cullen is so great, isn’t it?’

  ‘Damn right. He had me looking through CCTV all day.’

  ‘I know. You gave me the stuff. You finding Leonard picking up that Polish lassie really helped us.’

  ‘Right. Elvis is supposed to do that, isn’t he?’

  ‘But you solved the case, my girl. Well done.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Aye.’

  Her eyebrows almost hit the ceiling. She looks really pleased.

  The doors clatter open and that one with the Polish surname, Paula something, staggers out, already battered. She looks up at us. ‘Brian?’

  ‘Hey, Paula. How you doing?’

  ‘Okay.’ And there it is, the swaying of the shit-faced. She’s clutching an empty bottle of white wine. Know what they say about white, eh? Just don’t do it, kids. ‘Christ, that Shepherd can ask questions, can’t he?’

  ‘Trying to get in your knickers?’

  ‘I wish. Keeps asking about Scott bloody Cullen.’

  ‘Oh aye?’

  ‘Aye. Wish Chantal wasn’t sick. Spoke to
her today. Sounds like hell.’

  ‘Doesn’t it just.’ Though I’ve no idea what she’s talking about.

  ‘Way I hear it, Chantal caught Covid psychically.’

  Christ on a flaming Harley Davidson. ‘Psychically? What are you talking about.’

  ‘Like, don’t believe me if you want, but it’s a thing. Google it.’

  Is it shite a thing.

  And Eva knows it too, judging by her big grin.

  But Paula’s a cracking gossip, so I don’t want to call her on this bollocks. ‘Lovely day, isn’t it?’

  ‘Is it?’ Paula’s face changes like the weather in this godforsaken city. ‘My marriage is falling apart.’

  Christ.

  She’s further gone than I expected. Or is a bigger lightweight. Her cheeks are all rosy, but her eyes are pure black. ‘It’s… He’s cheating on me.’

  ‘You’ve not been married long, have you?’

  ‘Too long, Brian. Far too long.’ She puts the wine bottle to her lips and almost misses it. Then slurps it down. This is a bad idea. Someone’s going to have to get her home. She looks at Eva, then at me. ‘Either of you ever banged a guy with a massive cock?’

  ‘I’m not gay, Paula.’

  ‘Eh?’ She’s scowling at me. ‘Course you are.’

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘Well.’ Paula shrugs and takes another swig from the empty bottle. ‘I can’t stop thinking about this story Chantal told me. A few years ago, before Craig, she had an affair with a well-hung guy. And I can’t stop thinking about it.’ Then she stumbles off towards the bogs. Her wine bottle’s in a plant pot, upside down.

  Through in the Incident Room, I can see Hunter taking a pint of beer off Buxton, and it doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to put two and two together, does it? Or two inches and twelve.

  Christ, imagine that?

  ‘Eva, make sure you get some water into her, aye?’

  She nods at us. ‘Malky was asking about you.’

  That stops us in my tracks. ‘Was he, now?’

  ‘Oh aye.’

  I want to go and cause absolute havoc in there, but I look round at Eva. ‘Got a few stories for your boyfriend if he’s up for it.’

  She nods, but doesn’t make eye contact. ‘He wants to record another podcast tomorrow. It’s going crazy. The Secret Rozzer, eh? Magic.’

  23