by Ed James
‘No idea. Buxton’s looking into her background.’
‘It seems a tad far-fetched.’ A spotlight caught one of Methven’s stray eyebrows as he turned to the side. ‘Look, I’ve got a hell of a day tomorrow. Can I ask you to deputise the DC interviews?’
Cullen frowned. ‘Is that allowed?’
‘It’s the art of delegation, Sergeant. I’ll lend you some books on the subject.’
‘What I mean is, I’m Buxton’s sponsor.’
‘And I need you to be impartial, Sergeant. I can trust you on this, I know it.’
‘Well, I’ll see what I can do.’
Methven patted Cullen on the shoulder. ‘Go home, fresh in for seven.’
‘Sir.’
‘And make sure we rule out this Candy girl ASAP.’
Nineteen
‘Jesus, Si.’ Cullen rested his forehead against the wall in the corridor, tempted to headbutt it. ‘What do you mean she’s gone?’
‘I’m at Wonderland just now.’ Buxton’s footsteps clattered off slabs. ‘Candy never turned up.’
‘What happened after she left here?’
‘I spoke to the PCSO. Big Chris. Said her lawyer drove her off. I called Reynolds, says he dropped her outside Wonderland.’
‘Shite.’ Cullen thunked his head off the plaster a couple of times. ‘Call me when you find her.’
‘Will do, Sarge.’
‘Cheers.’ Cullen pocketed his phone and wandered into the empty Obs Suite. Collapsed into the chair in front of the bank of monitors. On the leftmost screen, Sharon and DC McKeown were interviewing the woman from earlier, the one who’d slapped Sharon. What was her name? Beth Graham? Head down, eyes shut, make-up slithering down her chubby cheeks.
‘Mrs Graham, I need you to confirm your statement here.’ Sharon looked up from her notebook. ‘Shall I read it back to you?’
Beth raised a shoulder. ‘Whatever.’
‘My client wishes you to proceed to reading out the statement.’ Her lawyer let his glasses drop to the chain around his neck. ‘Please.’
‘Very well. Your husband, one Kyle Graham of Meadowfield Terrace, Edinburgh, was present with you on the evenings of the twenty-fifth of April, the thirtieth of April and the third of May. You were, respectively, at the cinema, watching a DVD and walking on the beach at Portobello on the dates in question.’
Beth gave a slight nod, wiping a tear from her cheek. ‘That’s right.’
‘You’re aware this is an official police document. If this alibi is later proven to be false, you will be prosecuted.’
‘I get that. I’m not lying.’
‘Thanks for your time.’ Sharon rose to her feet and walked over to the door. ‘You’ll be escorted out.’
‘I’m sorry.’
Sharon frowned. ‘What for?’
‘Slapping you. It’s been a difficult few days. I’m trying to get pregnant and it’s not working.’
‘Apology accepted.’ Sharon slammed the door behind her.
Cullen waited for the equal and opposite explosion of the Obs Suite door opening. It smacked off the filing cabinet. ‘That went well.’
‘For Christ’s sake.’ Sharon collapsed into the seat next to him. ‘She’s given him an alibi for all of the rapes.’
‘But you still think he did it?’
‘He’s gay and she’s in denial. You saw what he was up to in that club on Saturday.’
‘You didn’t answer the question. Being gay doesn’t mean he’s raped anyone, does it?’
‘No. We’ve got to let him go.’
‘Back to square one?’
‘Aye.’ She held his hand. ‘How’s your day been?’
‘Buxton took me to a lap-dancing establishment.’
She let go of his hand. ‘Scott, you’d better be winding me up.’
‘It’s part of the case.’
‘It had bloody better be. Don’t want me to fire up the lathe, do you?’
‘I thought we’d had enough Fifty Shades stuff.’
‘How’s Bain been?’
‘Keeping his powder dry. I’m just waiting for the eruption.’ Cullen pinched his nose. ‘Crystal’s asked me— Sorry, he’s told me to do the interviews for this DC position.’
‘The one Budgie’s going for?’
‘Aye.’
‘Methven can be such a fanny.’
‘What do you mean “can be”?’
Tuesday
20th May 2014
Twenty
Buxton dumped a coffee on the desk. ‘Here you go, Sarge.’
Cullen lifted it up. Black cup with white lid, a red star etched in marker. ‘What’s this?’
‘My treat. Got you a posh one from that place on Broughton Street.’
‘Why?’
‘For getting me off the beat.’
‘Right, so you’ve still not found Candy?’
‘Rumbled.’ Buxton leaned against the desk and took a sip. ‘They’ve got nothing on her at Wonderland. Nobody there knows much about her.’
‘Shite. She’s cleared off, hasn’t she?’
‘Well, I spoke to six of her colleagues. Nobody heard about spanking or rogue fingers from Van de Merwe.’
‘Quite the gentleman. What about those escort gigs?’
‘All they know about is her attending the functions.’
Cullen tore off the lid. The latte’s delicate feathering had remained mostly intact despite the walk over. ‘Cheers for this. Even though I don’t like lattes.’
‘Shite.’
‘It’s cool. I need to get more calcium.’ Cullen rubbed his teeth. ‘My gums are receding.’
‘Is that going to fix it?’
‘Dr Google said so.’
‘Classic.’ Buxton sipped through the lid. ‘I’ve got my interview at eleven.’
Cullen hid his face behind the cup and stared over at the whiteboard as he swallowed. ‘For the DC gig?’
‘Yeah. Shitting myself.’
‘You’ll be fine.’ Cullen checked his notebook, open at the actions page. ‘Did you get the meeting minutes from Vivek?’
‘He sent them over last night. Went through them after I got back from Wonderland.’
‘Anyone would think you’re trying to impress.’
‘Nobody was here, though.’ Buxton shuffled through a wad of papers on the desk. ‘Dry reading, mate. Poor guy kept on calling out the low standard of requirements.’
‘What do you mean by “kept on”?’
‘Every single meeting.’ Buxton waved the papers. ‘Thirteen different occasions. Guy’s a broken record.’
‘But they’ve been there since the start of the year. That’s once a week, isn’t it?’
‘Looks like that.’
‘Who was there befo—’
‘Cullen!’
He swung around.
Methven stormed across the Incident Room, waving a copy of the Argus. ‘What the sodding hell’s this?’
Cullen caught it, the folded paper connecting with his throat.
Banker Death — Sex Dungeon Link
Cullen checked the byline. Rich again. ‘I swear this has nothing to do with me.’
‘You used to share a flat with him, didn’t you?’
‘Up to a year ago, aye. We’re both from Dalhousie, if you want to throw that one at me, as well.’
‘Don’t you sodding get smart with me.’
‘Look, you honestly think I’d mess up my career just so he gets a story?’
‘I’ve seen it happen.’
‘You’re not seeing it happen here, okay?’
Methven jangled keys in his pockets. ‘I’ve asked DS Bain to bring this Richard McAlpine in for questioning.’
‘You sure that’s wise?’
‘Unless you’ve got another idea of where this juicy little tidbit’s come from?’
‘He’s not answering my calls or texts anymore.’
‘We need to make sure there’s nothing sinister going on here.’ Methven folded
his arms. ‘DS Bain’s our best bet.’
‘What, are you—’
‘I’ve cancelled this morning’s briefing. Have you got a statement from Candy yet?’
‘Si’s just tracking her down.’
Methven stabbed a finger in the air. ‘I want her in an interview room by lunchtime.’
‘I’m not promising anything.’ Cullen watched him stomp off across the room and glanced round at Buxton. ‘Think the stress is getting to him?’
‘Maybe. Not sure you should be pushing him, though.’
‘No, you’re probably right.’ Cullen grabbed his coffee and a sheaf of papers. ‘Be back at lunchtime. I’ve got to see someone about something.’
‘Let me guess, a man about a dog?’
‘Not really.’
‘Who?’
‘Never mind. Just find Candy.’
* * *
Pen in mouth, Cullen pushed the other CVs to the far side of the table and sifted through the police records of the candidates. Helen Armitage had been a naughty girl in her teens. Surprised she’d been let into the force. He scribbled a note in the margin of the interview questions pack and sat back to look around the canteen. The queue was as short as it’d get this early. Another coffee wouldn’t go amiss.
‘What do you mean I’m barred?’ Bain gripped the counter at the front. ‘This is supposed to be a service!’
Barbara stabbed a finger at him. ‘Cut out the swearing and I’ll let you back.’
‘Oh, for fu—’
‘See? Can’t stop yourself!’ She pointed to the door. ‘Out!’
Bain headed over to Cullen, hands in pocket, scowling at everyone he passed. ‘Morning, Sundance.’ He hovered by the table, arms folded. ‘It was a bastard getting through here for seven. Can’t believe that fucker canned the briefing. Could’ve done with another hour in my scratcher.’
‘Tell it to someone who cares.’
‘You cheeky scamp.’ Bain dropped a two pound coin on the table. ‘Any danger you could get me a coffee?’
‘You sound like a wee ned outside an off-licence.’
‘That bitch makes me feel like it.’ Bain sat next to him. ‘Can’t believe this case. All that effort for a fuckin’ banker.’
‘Even bankers are human beings.’
‘You reckon?’
‘Someone’s been killed. Our job’s to find out who did it.’
‘If all you want’s a puzzle, Sundance, you should take up crosswords.’
‘Does it matter if it’s a heroin addict in Wester Hailes or a Lord Advocate out in North Berwick? If someone’s dead, we—’
‘—need to find out who did it. Aye, I get it. Fucking bastards took down the economy, Sundance.’ Bain stared at the papers. ‘What’s that?’
‘Crystal’s asked me to do the DC interviews.’
‘Aw, look at you all grown up.’ Bain grabbed a sheet. Held it at arm’s reach. ‘Think I know this bird.’
Cullen snatched it back. ‘Stop mucking about.’
‘Who’s the favourite?’
‘Buxton. Two years as ADC. The best of the others has six months.’
‘Two years and he didn’t fuckin’ make it, though.’ Bain laughed. ‘Your boyfriend’s shite, Sundance.’
‘Times have been tough. They didn’t replace me when I got this DS gig.’
‘Aye, that’s cos that prick Turnbull nicked it off McCrea.’
‘It’s not all bad. He took a stripe off you.’
‘Shut it.’ Bain sneered at him. ‘Buxton’s your mate. How are you going to handle that?’
‘I’ll treat everyone fairly.’
‘Can’t believe he’s getting away with pulling this sort of clown shite.’
‘Take it you’re not getting on well with him?’
‘Methven’s a fuckin’ arsehole, pure and simple. Running around pretending he knows what he’s fuckin’ doing. Told him last night I’ve got fifteen years as a DI if he wants any coaching.’
‘How’d he take that?’
Bain picked up his coin. ‘Told me to go home.’
‘How do you feel about your demotion?’
‘Shut it.’
‘Come on. He was behind it, not Turnbull.’
‘I asked for it, you know.’
‘Bollocks.’
‘I’m fed up of the politics, Sundance. I just want to solve cases. Likes of Methven are welcome to play Game of fuckin’ Thrones.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘DS wage plus overtime’s enough for me. Got my pension locked in at the DI rate and got them to include my OT.’
‘Wonders’ll never cease.’
Bain looked at the counter. ‘Right, that fuckin’ battleaxe’s gone on her break.’
* * *
Donna Nichols looked up from her interview pack, eyes lined. Hair in a bun, trouser suit. ‘Can you describe a time when you’ve had to take on a leadership position?’
PC Helen Armitage let her eyes wander around the room. Dark hair, severe glare. Clenched jaw. Perfume, something generic. Lots of it. ‘Okay. I worked six months as ADC in DS McMann’s team. There were a few times when he asked me to give the status update at DI Lamb’s morning briefing.’
Cullen jotted down a few words. No leadership skills shown. ‘I see on your record how you were arrest—’
‘I’m asking the questions, Sergeant.’ Donna smiled at Armitage. ‘How often was this?’
* * *
Cullen drummed his fingers on the table. ‘PC Buxton, why aren’t you wearing your uniform?’
Buxton flashed a frown. ‘Because I’ve been seconded to work plainclothes in the MIT.’
‘Before we go through the competency-based part of the interview, can you tell us why you think you’re suited for the DC role?’
‘I had two years as an ADC in DSI Turnbull’s Edinburgh Major Investigation Team.’
‘But that’s only been in operation since April last year.’
‘That’s right. Nine months in the MIT. Fifteen in Lothian and Borders CID.’
‘Why didn’t you get a full tenure?’
‘There was a reorganisation and austerity cuts.’ Buxton cleared his throat, the frown deepening. ‘My record’s solid.’
* * *
Donna smiled across the table, eyes cold. ‘PC Allison, can you outline how working for traffic makes you suitable for a detective role?’
‘Aye, eh.’ Ginger-haired, mouth slack and open with his tongue hanging out. A few spots dotted around his acne scars. He coughed. Sniffed. ‘I deal with a lot of crimes and, eh, manage my caseload.’
* * *
Will Traynor was barely twenty but stubble dotted his bald skull. At least six foot six. ‘Does that answer the question?’
Cullen sat back in his chair and glanced at Donna, shaking her head. He smiled at Traynor. ‘That’s fine. Do you have any questions for us?’
Traynor got to his feet. ‘That’s good, eh?’
Cullen nodded. ‘Thanks for your time.’ The door wobbled shut. ‘Jesus Christ.’
Donna clicked her pen and dropped it on her interview pack. ‘What a shower.’
‘Buxton’s the clear favourite.’
‘You think?’
‘Don’t you?’
‘I’m not sure about his record. Two years as ADC is a long period without full tenure.’
‘It’s a lot of valid experience in a trying time. Shows commitment.’
‘The first one impressed me the most.’ Donna shuffled through the papers. ‘PC Armitage.’
‘She’s got a criminal record.’
‘Which we addressed when she joined the force eight years ago.’
‘I don’t think she even passed the interview, let alone deserves a full tenure. Can’t imagine having her in my team.’
‘PC Buxton worked for you, didn’t he?’
‘That doesn’t stop me recommending him.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ll send an email to the
board when I get back to my desk.’
‘Sergeant, we’re interviewing three more candidates tomorrow.’
Twenty-One
‘Think I’ve stretched my stomach.’ Cullen pushed his plate away across the table, red lasagna grease glistening, and nudged the china against the hard wood tray. ‘That was too much for lunch.’
Sharon looked up from her own plate as she speared a shard of iceberg with her fork. ‘You could’ve had a salad.’
‘Should’ve done.’
She bit into the lettuce. ‘How’s your morning been?’
‘Interviews. Buxton was the best candidate by a country mile, but—’
‘But you’re sponsoring him and you need to be impartial?’
‘That.’
‘I’m sure you’ll sort something out.’ She chewed on the iceberg. ‘Methven’s given me some more of your time. Another victim interview at three o’clock.’
‘Jesus Christ. I’ve got my own caseload as well as these bloody interviews.’
‘He didn’t seem to mind.’
‘Why me?’
‘Rhona’s in hospital. Maternity check. She did get clattered on Saturday night.’
Cullen reached across the table to caress her hand. ‘You okay about that?’
‘She’s had more sexual offences interview training than you, so of course I’m not happy.’
‘I meant about her going for a check on her baby.’
She sipped her coffee. ‘I’ll talk when I’m ready, Scott.’
‘You used to get on at me for not talking about what happened with Keith and Mandy and … Alison.’
‘And you talked. Well done. You don’t have to change Fluffy’s cat litter for the next month. Happy?’
He glanced around the canteen at the healthy-eating slogans, then at her blouse, arms lost in baggy fabric. ‘We should’ve swapped lunches.’
Sharon’s fork clunked to the plate. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’