Bottleneck (DC Scott Cullen Crime Series Book 5)

by Ed James

  "This is from Strang's sister," said Cullen. "She doesn't seem to be a liar. She's not entirely on the same plane of existence as the rest of us, but I think it's worth checking out. The alternative is Bain pinning his case to a drugs murder and ours getting filed away with the cold cases when something new comes along."

  The line was silent for a few seconds.

  "What are you proposing, then?" said Methven.

  "I'm heading to Glasgow now." Cullen started the engine as the car in front trundled forward.

  "I thought you were ill," said Methven. "Alison had Bain on the phone complaining and wanting someone else sent through."

  "I got a call from DC Guthrie," said Cullen. "I thought I should investigate it."

  "You're playing games, aren't you?"

  "I'll get some help from Bain's team."

  "You're avoiding my question," said Methven. "I thought I told you about your behaviour."

  "I've told you now," said Cullen. "That's progress, isn't it?"

  "You're a cheeky sod," said Methven. "If this is a disaster, I'm having no part in it."

  "Noted," said Cullen. "I'll get DI Bain's team to bring Roberts in then we'll question him."

  "This had better be a much more thorough interview than yesterday's," said Methven. "I've seen the transcript. Not your finest hour, Sergeant. Sorry, Constable."

  "Let me make up for it," said Cullen.

  "Fine," said Methven. "Approved. Turnbull delegated authority to myself and DI Cargill."

  "Thanks." Cullen was glad he couldn't see Methven's face. "I'd better go."

  He ended the call and dialled McCrea's number, the traffic still crawling.

  "Thought you were ill?" said McCrea.

  "I told Bain I might feel better later," said Cullen. "It's later now and I'm feeling better."

  "So, why not phone him?" said McCrea.

  "I don't know," said Cullen, finally getting up past thirty.

  "Well, I could take a wild guess, I suppose," said McCrea. "Anyway, why are you phoning?"

  Cullen gave him the same briefing he'd given Methven. He knew he'd have to align notebooks with Guthrie later, depending on how it all went.

  "This is pretty far out there, Cullen. Even for you."

  "I'll put my career on the line over this," said Cullen. "We have to bring him back in for questioning."

  McCrea laughed. "After the last time?"

  "Yes," said Cullen.

  "You're a brave man," said McCrea. "Fine, but we need to keep this under the radar. We got a kicking from the super about bringing him in. He shouldn't get phone calls from record label lawyers, he says, unless they're asking him to sing a duet with Miley Cyrus."

  "This is a murder case," said Cullen. "We've got a suspect, we're going to bring him in."

  "I don't disagree," said McCrea. "We need to keep it tight when we do. The first I want his lawyer to know about this is a phone call from Roberts in custody."

  "Okay," said Cullen. "As long as we get him in for questioning, I don't care."

  "Where are you?"

  "Just leaving Edinburgh," said Cullen, lying his arse off. "I'll be there at the back of ten."

  "Fine," said McCrea, "we'll meet you at his house. I think we've got the address on file. I'll text it across."

  "Can you check his laptop?" said Cullen. "There should be some emails between him and Audrey Strang."

  "Aye, will do."

  Cullen ended the call just before he got to the roundabout at the end of Dundee. He was putting his neck on the line with this, that was for certain, but he felt like he was on to something.

  He just hoped he wasn't smoking the same thing as Alex Hughes.

  CHAPTER 91

  Cullen finally got to Glasgow just after ten.

  Roberts lived in a Victorian pile in the Southside, large enough for two families rather than a single rock star.

  Cullen parked on the road opposite Bain's purple Mondeo and flashed his lights. He walked over and got in the back seat.

  "Here he is," said McCrea, "ready to steal the glory."

  "If there's any glory," said Cullen, "I really don't care who gets it."

  "Bullshit," said Bain.

  Cullen was surprised to find only McCrea and Bain in attendance. "Where is everybody?"

  "It's just us," said McCrea.

  Cullen was getting worried. "You said on the phone you wanted it kept low key, but this is ridiculous."

  "We ran it past the Super and he's happy with it," said Bain.

  Cullen looked at McCrea. "Did you check on Hughes' laptop like I asked?"

  McCrea looked away. "Aye. There was a calendar appointment for the night in question. 'Meet Mike'."

  "Circumstantial," said Bain.

  Cullen shook his head. "When have I ever been wrong?"

  "Let's just hope your luck doesn't run out, Sundance," said Bain.

  Cullen pointed to the house. "What's been going on here?"

  "We think he's inside," said McCrea.

  "Think?" said Cullen.

  "We've just fuckin' got here, Sundance," said Bain.

  "Has anyone been to the neighbours or anything?" said Cullen.

  "Aye, just to next door," said McCrea. "There was a big racket last night about three in the morning. Loud music."

  "He's probably not alone," said Cullen.

  "Maybe not," said McCrea.

  "You got a warrant, right?" said Cullen.

  McCrea nodded. "Hope we don't need it, but we've got one."

  "What's your plan?" said Bain.

  "My plan?" said Cullen. "This is your operation."

  "We're supervising here," said Bain. "Plan. Now."

  "Arrest him, question him, charge him." Cullen shrugged. "I'd be a bit more comfortable with a couple of uniform to back us up."

  "Relax, Sundance. This boy is all skin and bone, no danger he's getting away from us."

  "Well, no time like the present." Cullen gestured towards the house.

  "Just remember," said Bain, "if this fucks up, it's your fault."

  "With no backup," said Cullen, "this is your fault."

  "Just us," said Bain. "Politics, Sundance."

  They got out. Cullen turned to Bain. "Do you want to stay back here just in case?"

  "Fine."

  Cullen and McCrea walked over, Cullen holding the creaking gate open before they hurried across the pebbled front garden. Cullen knocked on the door.

  "No answer," said McCrea.

  "I can see that," said Cullen. "Is he definitely in?"

  "This is your fuck up, mate."

  "Well, unless he answers the door," said Cullen, "we're absolutely snookered."

  "Fuck it, we're going in," said McCrea. "The warrant will cover us."

  "You're breaking the door down?"

  "Old trick I learnt from a DI," said McCrea.

  "Sure it's not the current one?" said Cullen.

  "Let's get in there and square up the notebooks after, right?" said McCrea. "We found the door knocked in." He braced himself. "On three."

  "Wait," said Cullen. "Do we go on three, or three then a beat and we go?"

  "Isn't that from Lethal Weapon?"

  "It's a valid point."

  "Fuck's sake," said McCrea. "Three, then go. One, two, three."

  He shoved his shoulder into the door, knocking it off its hinges.

  A burglar alarm blared.

  They slowly and methodically checked the five ground floor rooms. All empty. A couple of bottles of champagne lay in the kitchen sink.

  McCrea pointed at them. "Somebody had a decent night last night."

  "Must be upstairs," said Cullen.

  "Well deduced," said McCrea. "You idiot."

  Cullen shook his head. "Come on."

  They headed to the stairs and saw Roberts coming down, dressed like he'd just got in. A woman stood at the top, wearing a long t-shirt, trying to cover her legs.

  "What the fuck is going on here?" said Roberts.

&n
bsp; Cullen got his warrant card out. "Mr Roberts. We'd like to speak to you in relation to the murders of Alex Hughes and James Strang."

  Roberts stopped a couple of steps above Cullen. "We've spoken about this. Nothing more to say."

  "Just come down the station with us and we can deal with it there," said Cullen.

  "Yeah, right." Roberts was now at the bottom of the stairs. His eyes moved over to the front door. "You've fucking broken into my house." He squared up to Cullen. "Have you got a warrant for this?"

  "Yeah, we do." McCrea showed him the warrant. "Besides, the door was already broken."

  "Like fuck it was," said Roberts. "The alarm just went off then you pair pitch up. Do you think you can get away with this?"

  "Sir, if you'll just come with us," said McCrea.

  "Like fuck I will," said Roberts. "I want the pair of you out of here and then I want to speak to your boss."

  "He's just outside," said Cullen, "but, believe me, he's probably the last person you want to speak to."

  Roberts pointed at Cullen. "Look, pal, I've warned you. Get out."

  "You have to come with us," said Cullen.

  Roberts swallowed. "Let's see the warrant."

  McCrea started unfolding the sheets of paper.

  Roberts lurched forward, pushing Cullen in the chest and sending him stumbling backwards into McCrea. Both sprawled on the floor as Roberts bolted for it.

  "Mikey, where are you going?" said the girl.

  Roberts slammed what was left of the door shut.

  "Get up," said McCrea. "Get off me."

  Fire burnt through Cullen's shoulder.

  McCrea got to his feet then helped Cullen up. "Fuck's sake." He struggled with the door, eventually tugging it open.

  Cullen followed him outside, crunching over the path.

  On the street, Bain raced forward to head Roberts off. He swung a punch, narrowly missing. Roberts stepped forward and kneed Bain in the groin, the DI sinking to his knees.

  Roberts punched him in the face, knocking him flat on his back. He kicked him in the stomach twice, before looking back and spotting Cullen and McCrea running his way.

  Roberts jumped in Bain's car and slammed the door shut.

  Cullen tugged at the handle, managing to pull the door slightly open.

  The car started up, the engine growling. Roberts put his foot to the floor and the Mondeo screeched off.

  "Fuck's sake."

  Cullen headed over to Bain, McCrea kneeling over him.

  Bain spat blood. "Get the fuck after him."

  "What about you?" said McCrea.

  "I'll be fine," said Bain. "Send a fuckin' squad car for me. Shite."

  In seconds, they were in Cullen's car. He pulled a U-turn, ignorant of the oncoming traffic. A car swerved to avoid him.

  "We'll fucking lose him," said McCrea.

  Cullen was hitting sixty in a residential area, his Golf bouncing over the speed bumps, the suspension crunching. He could just about make out a purple blur as it signalled left at the end of the road then jumped a red light. "There he is."

  "Fucking keep on him," said McCrea.

  "Can you make yourself useful and call this in?" said Cullen.

  "Right." McCrea reached into his coat pocket for his Airwave. He spoke to Control in slow tones, getting the incident on the system and ordering a car for Bain.

  Cullen swung a left at the end of the road, turning onto a dual carriageway.

  "Can you still see him?" said McCrea.

  The Mondeo was about ten cars ahead, though there were long gaps between the vehicles.

  "Yes," said Cullen. "If you'd tried to apprehend him instead of seeing to Bain, he'd not have been able to get this far."

  "This is your disaster, Cullen."

  "There was no back-up. This was your shambles."

  "What were we supposed to do?" said McCrea. "You'd already pissed off the Chief Super with your antics. The gaffer had no moves left other than to keep this quiet."

  "Well, a killer has escaped," said Cullen. The speedo went past eighty as he bobbed and weaved through the traffic, managing to narrow the gap to five cars. "Where's he heading?"

  "M74 is just up ahead," said McCrea. "From there, it's easy to take the back roads into Bandit Country."

  "Bandit Country?"

  "North Lanarkshire. Otherwise, it'll be the M8 for him. If he's got any sense, he'll get off the motorway."

  Cullen flashed at the car in front of him, eventually forcing it to pull into the inside lane. He hit the floor and just about caught up with Bain's Mondeo, close enough to see Roberts spotting them in the rear view.

  Cullen's hand hammered down on the horn. He flashed the lights.

  The Mondeo surged forward. Cullen had no hope of matching it for speed - he only had a one point eight engine, no GTI or anything. The sports Mondeo would be at least three litres and stuffed with turbochargers and fuel injections.

  Fortune seemed to favour Cullen - the traffic ahead slowed. They caught up with Roberts, going bumper to bumper.

  Roberts jerked into the right-turn lane, before accelerating across the gap in oncoming traffic. He made it to the residential street beyond.

  Cullen shifted down to second and blasted across the gap, cars screeching to a halt as they approached.

  A braking SUV slammed into the back of Cullen's car, sending them spinning across the road. They mounted the pavement and slammed into a low wall, the car almost tipping over. It fell back down with a deep thud.

  Cullen noticed a trickle of blood down his arm - the seatbelt had cut his old wound open.

  "He's fucking got away," said McCrea.

  "Looks like it." Cullen winced through the pain. He tried the ignition, the grinding noise suggesting his car was written off.

  "I'm so glad this is your fuck up," said McCrea.

  Cullen only had his damaged shoulder to thank for not punching McCrea there and then.

  CHAPTER 92

  Two hours of checks and debriefing later, Cullen was stuck in Govan without a car. He stood in an empty meeting room in front of a whiteboard, drawing up possibilities of who to look for in the hunt for Mike Roberts. Anything to take his mind off the colossal fuck up.

  Start with the basics.

  Friends.

  Family.

  Work Colleagues.

  Friends and work colleagues would be his band plus a few others: band manager, people at the record label, hangers on, mates, guitar tech, sound guy.

  Girls like the one at his house. She'd been questioned and released, just a groupie he'd picked up at the backstage party.

  They needed to find his family.

  "You're not getting very far."

  Cullen turned round.

  McCrea stood in the doorway, arms folded. "You've been keeping a low profile since the paramedics let us go."

  "My car's fucked."

  "Right." McCrea smirked. "Did they get an exorcist out?"

  "That's not funny."

  McCrea pointed at the whiteboard. "How's it going?"

  "I know so little about Roberts," said Cullen.

  McCrea stood beside him and looked at the confused scribbles on the wall. "This is pretty fucked up."

  "At least it's my fuck up, though, right?" said Cullen.

  "We'll see."

  "How's Bain doing?"

  "He'll live," said McCrea.

  "Shame."

  McCrea turned to face Cullen. "You shouldn't be such a prick to him. He's a good DI."

  "Try working for him for longer than five minutes."

  "I have," said McCrea. "We go back years."

  "Then you're even older than you look."

  McCrea laughed. "Anyway, your parents have turned up to take you home."

  "Eh?"

  "They're in the Incident Room," said McCrea.

  Cullen headed through, a frown etched on his face.

  Cargill and Methven stood in the middle of the room, faces like thunder as they spoke to Gra
ham. Cargill left with Graham when Cullen appeared.

  "We need to speak," said Methven.

  "There's a meeting room through here," said Cullen.

  He led him back, his neck burning. McCrea had vacated the room, so they sat at the table, Cullen facing his spider-like scribbles.

  "What happened?" said Methven.

  "It was like I told you when I drove back from Dalhousie," said Cullen. "Roberts killed both of them."

  Methven looked sceptical. "Strang and Hughes?"

  "Aye."

  "What about DI Bain's theory that it was a drug killing?"

  "It's a good theory." Cullen sniffed. "It was wrong, though. We've got solid evidence from Hughes' laptop to back this all up."

  "What sort of thing?"

  "Hughes had a dossier on Roberts, implying he killed Strang. He was due to meet Roberts the night he died. He was going to confront him about it. I'm sure there will be more now we know what we're looking for."

  "This is a disaster," said Methven.

  "Is it?" said Cullen. "We know who did it now. They are one and the same case."

  "A sodding police officer's car was stolen, the officer injured in the process and the suspect is still at large."

  "Why are you two here?" said Cullen.

  "This doesn't reflect well on us," said Methven. "Alison's trying to stop any fallout from Graham. The new Chief Constable likes team players. We've got a loose cannon in our ranks."

  "Me?"

  "Who else?" said Methven.

  "I am a team player," said Cullen. "I just like to play a slightly different game every now and then."

  "It can be a sodding dangerous game," said Methven. "Just be thankful your bloody car is the only casualty this time."

  "I've kept you informed of what I was doing."

  Methven arched his bushy eyebrows. "Really?"

  "I called you once I knew I wasn't wasting everybody's time," said Cullen. "Look, James Strang's parents will be able to start grieving. Alex Hughes' mother will have someone to blame for her son's death."

  Methven nodded. "Let's see."

  "What's the plan of attack here?"

  "We need to round table this," said Methven.

  "What does that even mean?"

  Methven jangled the change in his pocket. "It means we need to sodding get round a table and plan this out. Properly."