by Ed James
"Speak to McCrea, Constable," said Bain, relishing the use of Cullen's revised title. "I'm sure he'll find something for you. Just keep out of my fuckin' hair."
CHAPTER 73
Cullen went through the case file again, spending an hour to little or no benefit. He'd been brushed off by McCrea, who muttered about giving him something to do before disappearing.
Cullen looked around the bustling Incident Room and let his shoulders sag. Officers milled around, no doubt with the same level of dedication he'd shown while working for Bain, lest they get their arses handed to them.
He didn't know where the nearest decent coffee shop was but there was nothing doing in the station. He found a drum of supermarket own-brand instant coffee and scooped in a few heaped teaspoons along with some hardened coffee whitener. His stomach was already starting to rumble.
He felt he was being taken for an idiot, having busted a gut to get there for the seven am briefing.
Cullen knew more than most how far the game between Cargill and Bain stretched back. Bain received his comeuppance in Lothian & Borders at the hands of Cargill. Now they were in Police Scotland, there were new rules. Bain was better connected in the new regime, his eleven years in Strathclyde giving him a clear advantage over Cargill's time in Lothian & Borders, Central and Grampian. The upper echelons in the new force were heavily weighted towards the west coast, which worked in Bain's favour.
He sat back down again and looked at his notes, figuring his morning was a complete waste of time. All they'd done in the last two days was perform a classic Bain sting, expending a lot of effort on tightening up notebooks and making sure everything was nailed down.
Big Shug was their main focus. They'd collated all available intelligence on the man from across Scotland. Cullen skimmed through a SOCA report but couldn't decide whether they were on the right track.
"You finding much in that?" said McCrea.
Cullen tossed the report to one side and looked up. "Not really. I'm still not convinced by this whole drugs angle."
"You mentioned that to the gaffer?"
Cullen shrugged. "As if he'd listen to me."
McCrea made a crybaby gesture. "Poor DC Cullen."
Cullen shook his head. "Mature."
McCrea sat on the edge of the desk. "You don't think we're capable of doing this right, do you?"
Cullen folded his arms. "I'll admit to a certain amount of scepticism."
"What are you going to do about it, then?" said McCrea.
"I'll just wait and see what happens."
"Just remember who's in charge of this police force now," said McCrea.
Cullen laughed. "Is that a threat?"
"Is what?" said McCrea.
"If I find anything dodgy, I'll go to Bain about it," said Cullen. "If he does nothing, then I'll have no choice but to go to my superiors in Edinburgh."
"I'd recommend you don't do that, Constable."
Cullen rubbed his forehead. "Is there a point to this?"
"I'm letting you know what's what," said McCrea. "That's all."
"Fine, you're the big boss man," said Cullen. "Are you going to give me something to do or are you just going to flirt with me?"
McCrea laughed. "That's good. I like that." He snorted. "No, for once I need your help."
"Oh?"
"We're raiding Hughes's dealer's house," said McCrea. "We need your presence there."
CHAPTER 74
Cullen sat in the passenger seat of McCrea's Escort with another two male detectives in the back. Other than driving north, Cullen had no idea what they were trying to achieve.
"You need to get me up to speed on the plan for this drugs raid," said Cullen.
"You're a DC again," said McCrea, "so you do what I tell you."
Until then, Cullen had enjoyed sparring with McCrea. The DS was without any redeeming features. Bain seemed to attract that particular flavour of wanker - timeserving and arse covering.
"Fine," said Cullen. "I'm asking what we're doing here. That's all."
"We've got a few teams of uniform in place," said McCrea, "six detectives and an Armed Response Unit." He tossed a set of photographs over.
Cullen looked through them, A4 black-and-white shots of a shifty-looking man in a tracksuit. "Who's this?"
"Should have paid attention to the file on Big Shug," said McCrea, grinning.
Cullen heard a brace of sniggers from behind. He ground his teeth. "Is this Big Shug?"
McCrea shook his head. "Malky Nicholls. He's been fucking with us for years but he's always kept himself clean."
"I don't get it," said Cullen. "I thought you were after Big Shug."
"We're not going to get Shug," said McCrea, turning off the motorway onto a traffic-laden dual carriageway. "While you were playing with yourself through in Edinburgh, or whatever the fuck you've been doing, the actual proper coppers have been getting on with some solid graft."
"Could you introduce me to these proper coppers?" said Cullen.
"Shut your mouth," said McCrea.
Cullen looked out of the window, hiding his smile from McCrea, pleased with scoring some laughs from the back seat.
"How have you managed to get hold of Nicholls, then?" said Cullen.
McCrea pulled onto a road through a residential area filled with blocks of flats and two-storey houses. "We found out Hughes was getting his drugs straight from Nicholls. We managed to get it locked down yesterday when we spoke to Marta Hunter in Edinburgh. Got our search warrant approved first thing this morning. The gaffer wanted to get in there right about now, reckons it'll catch him off guard."
"You'd better hope Nicholls doesn't have any bent coppers in his pocket," said Cullen.
"We don't have them through here," said McCrea. "We keep a tight ship."
Cullen didn't want to get dragged into an east versus west spat. "Tell me about Nicholls."
"As I say, we've been after the boy for years," said McCrea, "but now he's fingered in a murder, he's fucked."
"How big a player is he?"
"See, that's the thing," said McCrea. "He's small scale but he's a fucking pest, gets kids their weed then eventually gives them a wee taste of heroin before he sells them onto another of Big Shug's network. Recently, he's been getting further up the supply chain and more into the wholesale market, as it were."
McCrea pulled into a rough council estate, shabby houses circled by six multi-storey tower blocks. Cullen didn't know where they were. He guessed it was somewhere on the way to Dumbarton and Loch Lomond.
McCrea parked then led them over to a meat wagon. They met up with eight officers who looked bored as they stood against the far wall.
"Right, gather round," said McCrea. "Malky Nicholls stays in the next street. You should all know what he looks like. We've got a boy dressed as a postman who'll mark his house out. I want two detectives with each group of four uniform."
He pointed at the four next to them. "Cullen and me are taking squad alpha."
He nodded at the two who had driven out with them. "Willie and Jim, you pair are squad beta.
"Alpha, we're entering the house. Beta, you lot are to establish a perimeter. It's like a jungle in there so be wily, all right?"
He looked around the group, arms waving as he tried to gee them up like a football manager.
"Alphas, we're waiting until the perimeter is established before we enter. Other than that, it's the usual protocol. You've got your Airwaves, listen to them." He clicked his fingers. "Move out."
Cullen's heart pounded as they left the police van and jogged down the street, heading through a narrow vennel before hitting a long road. It was lined with two opposing blocks of flats, six storeys high. Exterior corridors ran down the length of the buildings, the front doors facing onto the balconies. From the layout of the front doors, Cullen assessed they were maisonettes inside.
He spotted the fake postie on the third floor, twitchy eyes monitoring the street below. Two uniformed officers ran ahead of th
e pack, sprinting to the far end of the building, one entering slowly, the other standing guard outside.
Cullen followed McCrea up the nearest stairwell, six officers behind him, two waiting to cover the bottom of the stairs. They entered the open corridor and clocked the postie standing outside a door two-thirds of the way along.
McCrea hammered on the door as a burly officer hefted a battering ram. The door was a reinforced steel model, a sign a drug dealer lived there.
"Mr Nicholls," said McCrea. "It's the police. Please open the door."
"Fuck off!"
McCrea shook his head. "We have a search warrant, Mr Nicholls."
"He's not here, big man!"
McCrea stepped to the side. "Fuck this." He motioned to the officer with the battering ram. "Open it up."
It took three full swings before the door burst off its hinges.
Cullen was one of the first in. The flat was full of people spilling out of the living room. Cullen quickly recognised Nicholls as he made his way up the staircase.
"He's gone upstairs," said Cullen.
"Over here!" McCrea wielded his baton at three men in tracksuits who surrounded him. He overpowered one, forcing him to the ground.
Another brandished a flick knife. Cullen barrelled into his back, sending him flying. He got on top and hooked his arm around the thug's neck, pushing him slowly to the ground.
A uniformed officer took the third down.
"Are we clear?" said McCrea, passing control of his assailant to a uniform.
"Think so," said one of the others.
McCrea turned the guy with the knife over. "Where is he?"
"Who?"
"Nicholls," said McCrea.
"No idea, pal." He sniffed. A bulge was already appearing on his forehead from the tussle with Cullen.
"He went upstairs," said Cullen.
One of the uniforms relieved Cullen, putting cuffs on his ned.
McCrea stormed off towards the front door, grabbing the postie. "Has anyone come out of here?"
The postie shook his head. "Not in the last hour, sir."
"He can't have disappeared," said McCrea.
"Look, will you just listen to me?" said Cullen. "Nicholls was here. He went upstairs."
"Fine," said McCrea.
Cullen took over. He pointed at the uniforms. "Stay here and start ferrying those three out."
He led them upstairs, taking the steps slowly. He swung his baton through the air, the appearance of the knife making him wary of heading into danger too recklessly for once.
They scoured the floor, made up of three bedrooms and a bathroom. They checked the back bedroom last, finding nothing again.
"He can't have just disappeared," said McCrea, hands on hips, glaring at Cullen. "You definitely saw him?"
"Yes," said Cullen. "It was definitely him."
Cullen looked around the room. The doors to a built-in wardrobe in the corner were hanging open from McCrea's hasty check. He looked inside, screwing his eyes up and spotted something in the corner. He pointed at the top. "What's that?"
"It's a fucking hatch," said McCrea.
"You think he's up there?"
"He might be," said McCrea. "Was he armed?"
"I didn't see him that well."
McCrea went back into the corridor and shouted down. "I need two of you up here."
A pair of officers trudged up the stairs. McCrea pointed at the one who carried the battering ram. "You're going to lift Cullen up."
"I'm not going up there," said Cullen.
"I'm ordering you," said McCrea, tossing a torch at Cullen.
Cullen practically had to bite his tongue as he extended his baton again. He squatted to be lifted by the uniform, who swayed with the effort. He pushed the hatch and raised his head. He didn't need the torch.
Covering an entire floor of the building was a room that looked like some twisted snooker hall - beneath rows of strip lights sat crops of cannabis plants in wooden planters lined with tinfoil.
Cullen turned to take in the full picture.
Something flashed in the corner of his eye.
A boot smashed into his face.
He toppled down, sending his carrier sprawling inside the wardrobe. Cullen landed hard on the floor.
"He's up there," said Cullen, blood pouring out of his burst mouth.
"Is he armed?" said McCrea.
"I've no idea," said Cullen, dabbing at his lip. "You need to sort him out."
McCrea clenched his fists. "Get me that armed response squad."
CHAPTER 75
Cullen and McCrea got back to the CID office in Govan station an hour later. Cullen still dabbing at his split lip.
Bain sat at his desk in the middle of the Incident Room, hammering on his laptop. He took one look at Cullen's lip and exploded with laughter. "What the fuck happened to you, Sundance?"
"I found out where your suspect was," said Cullen.
"Did you, really?" said Bain.
"Found a nice little hydroponics factory."
"We got hold of Nicholls," said McCrea. "Had to use the ARU."
Bain looked like he knew a bollocking was heading his way. "Was he armed?"
"We weren't sure." McCrea sniffed.
"Was he armed, Sergeant?" said Bain.
"No."
Cullen held up his hands. "This is nothing to do with me. I got lifted up to have a look. Nicholls kicked me rather than shooting me. Calling in the Armed Response Unit was entirely DS McCrea's call."
"I stand by my man," said Bain.
McCrea shrugged. "Either way. Nicholls is going down for this."
"Good work, Sergeant," said Bain.
"Are you sure he killed Hughes?" said Cullen.
"One hundred per cent."
"I've seen you like this before."
Bain stabbed a finger in the air. "I'd advise you to keep your fuckin' thoughts to yourself, Cullen."
"If you can't convince me this is your killer," said Cullen, "then I don't see you being able to convince the PF, let alone a jury."
"We know Nicholls was Hughes's dealer," said Bain. "Hughes owed him a large sum of money."
"And that's it?" said Cullen.
Bain shook his head, before turning his attentions to McCrea. "A word in private, Sergeant." He led McCrea out of the room.
Cullen slumped down in a chair and picked at the wood of the desk, fed up with whatever shite Bain was trying to pull here. They had very little evidence pointing to Nicholls being behind Hughes' murder.
Bain and McCrea came back in just as Cullen sneezed.
"You shouldn't be here if you've got a cold, Sundance," said Bain. "Don't want you spreading your fuckin' germs everywhere." He grinned. "Then again I know your sickness record has held you back a few times over the years."
Cullen stared at him for a few seconds then shook his head. He got up and left the room, marching to the front of the station.
Taking a deep breath of bitter April air, he let the dull grey morning envelope him and watched the meat wagon finally arrive, ferrying Nicholls and his acolytes in. If Bain was wrong, the conviction for the weed farm might get a bit sticky.
He reached into his pocket and got out his phone. Cargill, Methven or Turnbull? He picked one.
Cargill sounded harassed. "How can I help?"
"Have you got a couple of minutes?" said Cullen.
"Not really. Make it quick, please."
Cullen rapidly recounted what had happened with Nicholls, including his split lip and the possible abuse of an Armed Response Unit.
"It feels like I'm being used as Glasgow resource," he said. "I'm not progressing our case in any way, shape, manner or form."
Cargill was silent for a few seconds. "Right, get back through here. I'll get Jim Turnbull to deal with this."
"Thanks." Cullen ended the call.
He went back inside and found Bain alone in the Incident Room scribbling on a notepad. The room had emptied since Nicholls arrived, even t
he pair of DCs who normally sat in the far corner had gone. McCrea had disappeared as well.
Bain looked up as Cullen approached. "What is it now?"
"I'm heading back through to Edinburgh," said Cullen.
"No, you're not," said Bain. "You're my resource, Sundance."
"I'm not your resource. I'm with Edinburgh MIT. Speak to DCI Cargill."
"When the fuck did she become DCI?" said Bain.
"I suggest you keep on top of your briefings," said Cullen, thinking back to Guthrie's knowledge of his own demotion.
"I'm too busy doing actual fuckin' work." Bain looked at Cullen long and hard before he nodded slowly. "All right. I know what's happening here. Sundance, you've made your bed so I'll let you lie in the wet patch."
"Classy."
"You've not heard the fuckin' last of this," said Bain.
Cullen looked Bain up and down, before laughing. "Go fuck yourself. You're lucky to still have a job, you bullying wanker."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard," said Cullen. "I don't have to put up with you any longer."
"You can't speak to a superior officer like that," said Bain.
"Like what?" said McCrea, appearing from nowhere.
"He told me to go fuck myself," said Bain.
"Aye, he did," said McCrea.
Cullen leaned in close to Bain, his voice unsteady. "After the way you treat people, you honestly think you can make something of this?"
"Insubordination is written all over your record," said Bain. "Even I struggled to manage you. You were always trying to be the hero and heading off on some wild goose chase."
Cullen tried to hold the reptilian gaze but had to break off. "Just speak to Cargill."
"I will be escalating this," said Bain.
Cullen felt sweat trickle down his back as he left the room.
CHAPTER 76
Half an hour later, Cullen sat in a cafe on St Vincent Street in Glasgow, his restless fingers folding and unfolding a Post-It as he waited. His car was just round the corner, abusing the On Police Business sign. His phone lay face down on the table, the ringer on mute.
Michelle Cullen walked in, looking harassed. She eventually spotted him and gave the briefest smile before coming over to his table, dumping her coat on the chair opposite.