Gore Glen (Cullen & Bain Book 4)

by Ed James

  Of all the cops on pick-up duty, Cullen wouldn’t have picked Elvis first. Like when he would play football at school break, Elvis would’ve been one of the last kids waiting. Not a sportsman by any stretch, but he did have other uses. Like his mad driving skills, shooting around whichever Midlothian backroad they were on. Cullen had lost track a few turnings ago.

  ‘So, that Shepherd boy was asking me about you.’

  As much as he didn’t want to, Cullen looked over to get a read on Elvis, but he was laser-focused on his driving. ‘What was he asking about?’

  ‘Didn’t speak to me directly, but he’s been chatting to Eva, Paula, Craig, Si, you name it.’ Elvis snorted. ‘Right. Here we go.’

  Cullen looked up and right he was, they were outside the Marshalls’ home. ‘Why didn’t he ask you?’

  ‘Eh…’ Elvis sniffed. ‘No idea.’

  ‘Not because you’re the Secret Rozzer?’

  ‘Hardly.’

  ‘Is it Bain?’

  ‘Look, I know you asked me to dig into it, Scott, but I’ve been too busy. What I do know is it’s not Bain.’

  ‘This better not be a lie.’

  ‘It’s the truth, Scott. I’ve got all his podcasting gear. When we, eh, had our wee falling out after America, I nabbed it all back. He’s totally clueless about the tech side. And the missus was round theirs to show off the new baby. She said their podcasting room is now a nursery.’

  ‘A nursery.’

  ‘Aye. Look, I did some digging into the feed. The server where it’s stored isn’t owned by him, I know that much. Someone in Edinburgh, but not him.’

  Nothing conclusive.

  Cullen clocked Shepherd’s car in the rear-view. ‘Okay, Paul, I believe you for now. Stay put, and be prepared to shoot off if they get wind of us, okay?’

  ‘On it.’ Elvis ran his fingers round the wheel, like he was caressing something.

  Cullen didn’t want to think what, so he got out onto the windy street. Some kids kicked a football over a back garden fence, the ball arcing high up in the blue sky. Cullen used to do that when he was young. Felt like forever ago.

  ‘Scott.’ Shepherd walked over, hands in pockets, all calm and collected, and looked to the side. ‘How do you think we should play this?’

  ‘Think we should get someone round the back.’ McKeown was with him, his shifty eyes narrowing.

  Shepherd pointed towards the football flying through the air. ‘Go and see if you can get into their garden that way.’

  ‘Sarge.’ McKeown sloped off, hands in pockets.

  Shepherd watched him go. ‘Any idea how you turn his brain on?’

  ‘Wish I knew, Luke. Wish I knew.’

  ‘You’ve not half got a bunch of dafties in your squad, Scott.’

  ‘Swapping them for good cops takes a lot of time and work. We’re halfway there, at most. Besides, Malky’s good for operations like this. That thick skull of his can take a lot of battering.’

  ‘Aye, well, he’s not good for driving, that’s for sure.’ Shepherd sniffed. ‘So, you and me taking the front door? Like old times?’

  ‘Aye, let’s.’ Cullen held up a finger to Elvis, getting him primed and ready. ‘Shouldn’t have let them go from the nick, should we?’

  ‘Happens, doesn’t it?’ Shepherd stepped up the path and knocked on the door. ‘Plus, they had a plausible story.’

  ‘Just one that is absolute bollocks.’

  ‘Not absolute, Scott. But omitting details like the fact they murdered Isobel Geddes.’

  The door opened to a crack and an eye appeared, above a tattooed neck. Ryan Marshall. ‘Aye?’

  ‘Police.’ Shepherd held out his warrant card. ‘Need a word, sir.’

  The door closed and opened up. ‘What’s this about?’

  ‘Ryan Marshall, I’m arresting you for—’

  The door slammed and Ryan disappeared into the house.

  ‘Bollocks.’ Shepherd shouldered it open, then stormed through.

  Cullen followed, but Shepherd slipped into the lounge. ‘Get after him!’

  Cullen caught a glimpse of Shepherd guarding over Dawn Marshall and her kids, then he stormed through the kitchen. The back door was hanging open, so he pushed through and out into a garden.

  A football cracked off his cheek, stinging like crazy. He looked around, but stars filled his vision.

  Ryan was hanging over the wall.

  Cullen sprinted over and grabbed his ankles, tugging Ryan’s jeans down and showing a bit too much arse cheek. Then McKeown’s head and forearm appeared and Ryan tumbled back onto Cullen.

  As well as his stinging cheek, Cullen was now winded. He tried to push himself up to standing, but had to suck in a deep breath.

  Ryan was weaving between the clotheslines, heading back to his kitchen door.

  ‘Get after him!’ Cullen tried to follow, tried to cajole McKeown into following. ‘Now!’

  McKeown was able to get to the kitchen, at least, but Cullen followed him into an empty room, just McKeown standing there scratching his neck.

  Shepherd was through in the hall, cuffing Dawn.

  Cullen searched the small kitchen, all white units and appliances. ‘Where is he?’

  McKeown opened a door to a garage.

  Ryan stood by the far wall, holding a machete, covered in dried blood. ‘Back off!’

  Cullen stepped into the cold garage, palms raised. Boxes piled high on all sides. Bikes and prams. The street door was one of those that swung up, very hard to open from the inside. Cullen had him. ‘There’s nowhere to run, Ryan.’

  ‘Get back!’ He lashed out with the machete.

  Cullen felt the air lash across his face. ‘Give it to me, Ryan. Please.’

  Ryan held the machete towards him. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Face up to what you’ve done, Ryan. You killed someone. You slashed their face and left them to rot. You’re going to spend a lot of time inside for this. But I know you’re not in control here, right? You didn’t kill Isobel. That’s not on you. Your ordeal is over.’

  ‘I can’t do this.’ Ryan held the machete out at arms reach, then moved to plunge it towards his own heart.

  A blur flashed past Cullen, and thudded Ryan into the wall. A clatter of metal on the floor, then Malky McKeown emerged holding the machete by the handle.

  Cullen hated staring into the eyes of a psychopath. But he didn’t know who was worse, Dawn Marshall sitting in the interview room on his left, her husband in the room across the corridor, or Wayne Leonard being led away to the holding cells, head bowed.

  None of them seemed to care what had happened to Isobel Geddes. Dying like that, to further some stupid moneymaking scheme with buried drugs, or just their sexual pleasure, whatever form that took.

  Killing someone.

  Cullen shut the door so he couldn’t see Dawn any longer, leaving her with two of Shepherd’s team.

  Shepherd came out of Ryan’s room, leaving McKeown behind him. ‘Full confession, Scott. Malky’s just dotting the I’s and crossing the T’s.’

  Cullen let out a deep breath. ‘You look like you could do with a drink.’

  ‘I’m teetotal these days.’

  ‘Pretty much the same myself.’ Cullen laughed. ‘But our teams have done well today. Let’s make sure they have a good time.’

  ‘Sure that’s a good idea?’

  Cullen grinned. ‘The station’s dead and Soutar’s called in a favour to bring some in to the Incident Room.’

  24

  Cullen’s team are standing in the Incident Room, hanging about, masks off, getting absolutely blunted. If the press got wind of this…

  The boy manning the table looks familiar, ruddy-faced old bugger serving out beer and wine. ‘What you having, Brian?’

  As much as I don’t recognise him, I can’t for the life of me remember the round. Buggeration. ‘Eh, six IPAs, and two glasses of white.’

  ‘Large or small?’

  ‘Large.’

 
Off he goes to the pumps. Actual beer. In a police station. Maybe I should give one of those lads at the Argus a tinkle, sure they’d love it. Or save it for Malky’s podcast. And it’s an okay IPA, too, I’ll give him that, far from the best, but then it’s hard to track down that IPA from the Florida panhandle, isn’t it?

  He passes two perfectly poured pints over. ‘Old Inspector called us up, knew I’d have stock going off. These barrels are still fine.’

  ‘You own a pub?’

  ‘Aye, The Cheeky Judge.’

  Got it.

  The coppers’ bar, just staggering distance from the back entrance to St Leonards. But it’s not that. Maybe it’s just that it stands to reason the boy’s an ex-cop and, let’s be honest, they all look the same, don’t they?

  Eva squeezes in next to us. ‘Alright, Brian, Malky just texted us. You okay to come round tomorrow after your shift?’

  Thing about her is she’s not subtle. ‘Aye, I’ll have a look at those LPs. Why’s he getting rid of them again?’

  She frowns at us for way longer than she should, then it hits her. ‘Oh. Aye. Right, well, we’ve just not got the space with him moving in to mine. It’s so tight it’s just tragic.’

  ‘Aye, I’ll probably take the lot off him, then. Only got the Songs: Ohia stuff on CD, so having it on vinyl would be fantastic.’

  She rolls her eyes at us, playing along like a pro. ‘You don’t need to talk in code here. He’s one of us.’

  I frown at the barman. ‘You know him?’

  She looks back at us, smirking. ‘Where do you think Malky’s got half his material from?’

  ‘Okay, so remind me what his name is again?’

  ‘Willie McAllister. Used to work the beat down in Leith. Hates Cullen even more than you or I do.’

  And it hits us. The bald dome, the smears of eyebrows, the snide look. Aye, I remember him now.

  That case, way back when, he made an arse of something, didn’t he? Some missing woman, who wasn’t so much missing as dead.

  Still, I focus on Eva. ‘Still don’t get why you hate Cullen so much.’

  She shakes her head. ‘He led me on is why. He’s such a slag.’

  ‘Isn’t he just.’

  Willie passes us four of the pints. ‘Here you go, son.’ He grins at Eva. ‘You’re not allowed to drink white wine after last time.’

  ‘I didn’t ask for white.’ She scowls at us, then back at Willie. ‘I asked this idiot for a Bacardi and Coke.’

  ‘Can’t get the staff, eh?’ Willie slides over to the spirits. ‘Malky doing okay?’

  ‘Okay enough, Willie.’ Eva stands there in the middle of the Incident Room like it’s a pub and she owns the place. ‘You still trying to sell up?’

  ‘On the QT, aye.’ Willie rests her glass down with a huff that might’ve got some spit in her glass, but she either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. ‘Thinking I’ll have to put it on the open market, when that’s a thing again.’ He’s pouring the last pint incredibly carefully. ‘Trouble is, anyone swooping in to buy a cop’s bar, they’ll turn it into something else, won’t they?’

  ‘Ruin the place for us.’ Eva wrestles the four pints into formation, then powers across the floor to the huddle near where Cullen runs his morning briefings.

  I take the fifth pint and sink a good few fingers. Braw. ‘You really selling that place?’

  He looks up from pouring the wine. Not using one of those metallic measuring things, either, just a lovely free pour like he’s in some dive bar in the States. ‘Trying to, aye. Got myself a house up in Applecross, but I need to sell this place before the buyers get too pissed off with me.’

  ‘What’s wrong with the pub?’

  ‘Thought when I retired that sticking my life savings into it would give me all the good stuff from being a cop. You know, being around people all day. But it’s empty most of the time, and when you’re sober behind the bar, the people are all mostly wankers.’

  ‘I hear you.’

  He slides the two glasses of wine over. ‘That everything?’

  ‘Let’s you and me have a chat about doing a deal.’

  ‘You serious?’

  ‘Might be. Got an inheritance coming, could do with something to coast me through retirement.’

  But he’s not listening now, his eyes are on the door. ‘Robocop?’

  Prick in a mask wanders in, doesn’t he? Cullen, hands in pockets, smiling at us both. ‘Hi, Willie. Pour another round for everyone, would you?’

  I take my pint below halfway. ‘I’ve got the motor.’

  ‘You smell like you shouldn’t be driving, Brian.’ Cullen does that sigh of his. Makes him sound like a total dick. ‘Just a Coke for me.’

  ‘Not like you to not take a drink.’

  ‘Driving too.’ Cullen grabs the two wine glasses and takes them over to the whiteboard, where Elvis is drawing cartoons of everyone.

  ‘Still a wanker, then?’ Willie starts pouring a beer.

  ‘And the other end of it.’ I look outside and it’s a glorious day. Bollocks to it, I’ll get Apinya to pick us up. ‘Throw in a shot with each pint, would you?’

  Willie shoots us a wink. ‘Coming right up.’

  I take the first pair of pints off him and add in Eva’s Bacardi. But I don’t set off straight away. ‘I’ll come in one night this week so you and me can have a wee chat about me taking over your pub.’

  ‘Any time.’

  I head over to hand Eva her glass and rest my pint down on a table. Sod it. Not enough mayhem here, so I wander over to goad Hunter and Buxton. ‘Boys.’

  Hunter is sipping from his beer, slowly like it’s lager. ‘Brian.’

  I take the seat between them. ‘Braw day, isn’t it?’

  Hunter rests his beer on the table. ‘You can’t just sit there, acting like what Leonard did to Cullen and Methven is okay. Acting like running off like that is okay.’

  He’s got his bloody knickers in a right twist, hasn’t he? ‘Craig, I had to choose, didn’t I? Sure you’ve been in that kind of situation. Over in Iraq, maybe?’

  Oh, ya dancer. There’s that wee pause, where he drifts off somewhere else. But he’s back. ‘Of course I have, but you left two colleagues. That’s not cool. Shepherd reckons Methven might never walk again.’

  ‘Right, but what am I going to do about that? I’m not a spinal surgeon, you fanny.’

  He just looks at Buxton, like he’s going to get backup from that boy.

  ‘Time for a piss.’ Buxton stands up and heads inside.

  ‘Fetch the rest of the round, would you?’

  ‘Sure.’ And he buggers off.

  But I fix my hardest stare on Hunter. ‘Craig, the reason we caught Leonard is because of my actions. And I got battered in the nadgers for my troubles.’

  ‘I’ll punch you in the balls if you don’t bugger off.’ And it looks like he means it. Snide bastard.

  But Buxton’s turned up with the beers already.

  ‘Christ, that piss was fast.’ I smile at him. ‘Suppose it’s got a bit of a way to travel, so you have to start peeing five minutes before you need to, eh?’

  Can tell he’s not enjoying this. He sits down next to Hunter and hides behind his beer.

  I finish mine, though. I run a hand across my lips but I can still smell the dog shit from earlier. Christ. ‘Weird seeing you two sitting together like this. All pals.’

  Hunter frowns at Buxton, then at me. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Well, you know about Chantal shagging Buxton, right?’

  Hunter’s gone red. ‘What?’

  ‘Heard it on the grapevine, Craig. Few years ago, but this boy’s packing a monster cock. Doubt you can measure up to that! Imagine how disappointed Chantal must be to deal with your maggot after Buxton was banging her with that python!’

  Ow!

  Hunter’s grabbed my wrist, and stuck his thumb in somewhere that really fuckin’ hurts. ‘Shut your mouth.’

  ‘Come on, Craig
. It’s at least ten inch—AAAGH!’

  Shite, something fuckin’ snapped in there.

  ‘Stop it!’ Big meaty fists push us away, backwards until I fall.

  Hunter’s grip yanks me upright. Christ, the big bastard is so strong that he can lift me like a child. All fourteen stone. Bloody hell.

  ‘Craig, back off.’ Shepherd’s between us, pushing Hunter away. Not many men have that kind of strength.

  ‘You hear what he—’

  ‘Sticks and stones, Craig. Sticks and stones.’

  Something passes over Hunter’s eyes. Something I don’t like, frankly.

  I’m in for it. Maybe not now, but soon.

  Well, bring it on.

  Shepherd grabs my sleeve and hauls us away from them and my fresh beer. ‘What’s going on?’

  He’s not holding anything. ‘You not drinking, Luke?’

  ‘No, and it’s not a crime.’

  ‘You’re not an alcoholic, are you?’

  ‘What, like you?’ Shepherd shakes his head at us. ‘No, I’m driving. And you’re not even a beer in and you’re being a toxic wee shite. Not that you need alcohol for that.’

  ‘You starting on us now?’

  ‘Brian, I was watching that. You were clearly the instigator, winding Craig up until he snapped. I’m advising you, as a superior officer, to shut up and drink your beer, then bugger off.’

  Cullen appears through the door, his hungry eyes are searching everywhere, being a right nosy bastard.

  Angela Caldwell joins him, towering over him. And she’s wearing flats too. Christ.

  Time I check on Paula.

  Shepherd doesn’t notice me slip off, and I snatch my beer from behind Buxton, then walk over and plant myself between Eva and Paula.

  Eva looks round at us. ‘So Hunter’s still got thin skin, then?’

  ‘Aye, and then some. Last thing I need is to let myself get into another fight, especially in front of Cullen, Shepherd and Caldwell. I’ll lose my pension, and I really need it.’

  Paula sips from a glass of water. ‘That’s rich.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Well, her turning up like that and you saying that.’

  She’s so pished that it doesn’t make any sense to anyone. Not me, not to Eva.