by Ed James
‘Just a sec, Sergeant.’ Cargill frowned at her pack. ‘Specialised Crime Division requires a lot more than “the odd bit of overtime”. Our staff regularly work four or five additional hours.’
‘That lad’s coming up from Berwick every morning, ma’am. Can’t expect him to stay too late.’
‘Very well.’ Cargill scored through a chunk of text. ‘Please continue.’
* * *
‘Aye, cheers.’ Mullen slammed the door behind him.
Cargill let out a sigh and shoved her pack over to Donna. ‘Well, that’s a definite no on Ogilvie.’
‘Agreed.’ Donna collected Cullen’s papers, frowning at the hole. ‘Do you agree, Sergeant?’
‘I already said he shouldn’t have got this far.’
Cargill stood up and stretched out, the two sides of her parting at the bottom. ‘So it’s down to two.’
‘Not really.’ Donna flicked through her papers. ‘Buxton’s interview score was poor. It’s only Hel—’
‘What do you mean poor?’ Cullen crossed his arms. ‘I said he should’ve got it on that basis alone.’
‘I marked him down on three separate points.’
‘What were they?’
‘Well, first—’
‘Sergeant.’ Cargill smiled at Cullen, head tilted to the side. ‘I think you need to accept the decision. Helen Armitage is clearly the strongest candidate.’
‘Come on…’ Cullen jumped to his feet and paced the room. ‘Lamb just wants to chuck his dead wood into my team.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘You know the issues he’s had with the Cou— With DC Fox. He’s already planted the seed to swap her with PC Armitage. This role is for my team. I should get to call the shots.’
‘Sergeant, this has to be an open and transparent process. You can’t just appoint your mate to the team. What’d happen if I had to second you to another investigation?’
‘You’re saying I should be stuck with someone who’s not delivering?’
‘That’s an entirely separate manner, Scott.’
‘Is it? You didn’t sit in on the interview and listen to PC Armitage’s piss-poor answers.’
‘You could’ve challenged them.’
‘I tried but I was scribing. Wasn’t my job.’
‘Nonsense.’ Donna huffed. ‘All you’d written was “No leadership skills shown”. I had to write up the notes from memory.’
Cargill scowled at him. ‘Is this true?’
‘Look, ma’am, I’ve been at DI Lamb’s briefings a couple of times, as you know. Armitage isn’t up to it.’
‘Let’s go back to you thinking we should appoint your friend.’
‘If he’s a friend it’s because we’ve worked together and he’s earned my trust and respect.’
‘You sure?’
‘He’s a very good officer. Professional, solid, reliable. Two years as an ADC. He’s experienced and driven. Everything we need.’
‘Let’s have a vote.’ Cargill pouted. ‘Donna?’
‘PC Armitage.’
‘Scott?’
‘Buxton.’
‘Well, I say Helen Armitage. The motion’s carried.’
Cullen stomped over to the door and stared back at them. ‘It should be Simon.’
Cargill shut her eyes for a few seconds. ‘We’ll take this to DSI Turnbull.’
‘So it’s still open?’
‘No, it’s decided. Can you please inform Buxton?’
‘But—’
‘Just do it, Scott. Okay?’
Thirty-Four
Cullen slumped down in the seat next to Eva. ‘Have you seen Buxton?’
‘Went to Fanny Hill.’
‘Don’t let Methven hear you calling it that.’
‘Right. HMP Cornton Vale, Sarge.’
‘What’s he doing up there?’
‘Wouldn’t say.’
‘You anywhere with Paul Vaccaro yet?’
‘Remind me?’
‘Eva, I asked you. He worked for UC Partners, remember?’
‘Right.’ She scribbled in her notebook. ‘I’ll do some digging, Sarge.’
‘It’s fine, I’ll get Murray to do it.’
‘You sure?’
His phone blasted out. Unknown caller.
‘I’m sure.’ He put the mobile to his ear. ‘DS Cullen.’
‘This is Wayne Broussard returning your call.’ Clipped American accent, polished. ‘How may I be of service?’
Cullen moved away from Eva. ‘Thanks for calling me back, sir. I need to—’
‘What’s this about?’
‘I’ve left a couple of voicemails over the last few days explaining the situation.’
‘You think I’ve got time to listen to voicemails, buddy?’
Cullen tightened his grip on the phone. ‘We need to speak to you regarding the death of Jonathan van de Merwe.’
‘What? Jon? What?’
‘We found his body on Sunday morning.’
‘Jesus Christ. Why didn’t somebody call me?’
‘We’ve tried, sir.’
‘Yeah, not hard enough. Situations like this, you little guys should reach out to me, you know what I’m saying?’
Little guys? Cullen ground his teeth together. ‘Where were you on Saturday night between three and four in the morning?’
‘UK time? Sleeping, probably. I’ve been hunting elk in northwest Colorado.’
‘I’ll need a precise location.’
‘We were moving about a lot. You want my GPS record?’
‘That’d help.’ Cullen swapped his mobile to the other hand. ‘When are you back in the country?’
‘I’ll be there Monday. Sunday if I can get out of Buttfuck, Idaho any sooner.’
‘Thought you were in Colorado?’
‘We swung through Wyoming into Idaho Wednesday.’
‘What about Saturday or Sunday?’
‘I’ll be busy. Got a pitch to run through with Ollie Cranston.’
‘That’s why you cancelled his holiday?’
‘That what he told you?’
‘I really need to speak to you about Mr Van de Merwe.’
‘We’re talking now.’
‘Do you know if he was involved in UC Partners?’
‘This again.’ A sigh. ‘Right. As far as I know, Jon held an equity share.’
‘Definitely?’
‘I’m not in the habit of being vague, son.’
‘Do you have anything to back that up?’
‘This is what you little guys never understand. Schneider is a multinational corporation. All we are is our reputation. Do you expect us to get into bed with a guy who could ruin that? No. We’ve got a dossier on Jon as thick as my twelve-inch.’
Cullen grimaced. ‘Thought you guys were friends?’
‘That’s a good one. I’ll treasure that.’ A laugh, high-pitched. ‘Son, if I were you, I’d be speaking to the Indians.’
‘IMC? Why?’
‘Let’s be honest, they didn’t get that gig on merit.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Follow the money.’ Something clattered in the background. ‘Listen, I’ve got to go. I’ll see you when I arrive.’
‘Wait—’
The line clicked dead.
‘—a second.’ Cullen stared at his phone. ‘Bastard.’ He redialled the last number.
‘You’ve reached the voicemail—’
He killed the call. Dialled again.
‘You’ve reached the voicemail of Wayne Broussard. Leave a message.’
‘Mr Broussard, I hadn’t finished. Can you please call me back at your next convenience. Thanks.’ Cullen stabbed the “end call” button on his screen. ‘Wanker.’
Eva appeared. ‘You okay, Sarge?’
‘I’ll live.’
‘Look, I’m sorry about that Vaccaro thing.’
‘That’s fine.’
‘Can I get you a coffee? I was just heading down to see Ande
rson. Says he’s finished the coke analysis.’
* * *
Cullen held the ground-floor door open for Eva. Steel-on-stone grinding reverberated down the long corridor, the scent of bleach tickling his nostrils. ‘What the hell’s going on down there?’
‘No idea.’ Eva started down the corridor. ‘But I hope it’s happening to Bain.’
‘I’d better not comment.’
‘It’s okay, Sarge, I won’t say anything.’ She knocked on the Scenes of Crime lab entrance. ‘Open up, it’s the police!’
The left door swivelled open. Anderson got up, hands on hips. He screwed up his face. ‘Cullen and his latest gimpess.’
‘Charming. We’re here for our drugs, James.’
Anderson frowned. ‘Thought I sent them to you, imp girl.’
‘The stuff you sent isn’t readable by humans.’
‘How would you know?’
‘Look, quit messing.’ Cullen gripped the edge of the counter. ‘I’m having a shite day and this isn’t helping my mood any.’
‘Better come on through.’ Anderson led into the lab, heading for a large machine near the window. ‘I’ll try to only use monosyllabic words.’
‘Good luck stretching your vocabulary.’
Anderson shook his head. ‘I did the old cobalt thiocyanate test last night. There’s definitely cocaine in there.’
Cullen tapped the machine, getting a deep ring. ‘Using this?’
‘What? This? No. The CT test’s done on a slide.’ Anderson reached into a unit next to the machine and pulled out a transparency covered in a thin wash of blue crystals. ‘The blue means it’s got cocaine in it.’
‘Just coke?’
‘Did the usual tests for opiates, barbiturates and LSD. All negative.’ Anderson tapped the machine. ‘This baby’s our UV spectrophotometry beastie. Shows what’s in it.’
‘And?’
‘Coke and a load of other shite.’ Anderson waved at a machine visible through the glass pane in the middle of the room, a suited figure easing a tray out from it. ‘Ran it through the mass spectrometer next. Aside from the charlie, there are the usual suspects. Sucrose, lactose, talc, procaine, ammonia—’
‘Ammonia?’
‘Aye. It’s used as a base agent to turn it to crystals. We also got ether, whi—’
‘Ether?’
‘Aye. It was dried in. Shows it wasn’t the best gear.’ Anderson crossed his arms. ‘Seeing as how I owed you one for the old sex room rescue, I had a chat with Jimmy Deeley. At the PM, he found burns on your guy’s nasal passages and at the back of his throat. The ether and ammonia were burning his nose.’
Eva leaned back against a cabinet. ‘They pack all that shite in to cut the actual coke content, right?’
‘Aye. Less than thirty per cent in this stuff. Earns them more money, pure and simple.’
‘Shouldn’t he have known?’
‘No danger. The procaine’s in there to give the numbing effect. It’s a local anaesthetic, makes them think they’re getting good stuff.’
‘Clever.’ Cullen scribbled some notes. ‘What else do you know?’
‘See, this is where it gets interesting, Cullen.’
‘How?’
‘Well, we’ve been slow because drug squad got a shitload of the stuff at a raid down Leith way.’
‘National Crime Agency?’
‘No, your lot.’
‘Who’s the dealer?’
‘I wish I could tell you.’
‘Come on…’
‘It’s under their active investigation. I’m sworn to secrecy.’
‘Come on, James.’
‘Cullen, my hands are tied. Speak to DC Zabinski down in Fettes.’
* * *
Eva swiped through the security barrier at Fettes and trotted down the corridor to keep up with Cullen. ‘You’ve been quiet, Sarge.’
‘This better work out, otherwise I’ll kick Anderson’s arse.’
‘You can understand where he’s coming from, though, right?’
‘He should’ve told us.’
Eva put a hand to his chest, stopping him halfway down the corridor. “EAST DIVISION / OPERATION VENUS” was stencilled in white on black plastic.
Eva waited till he’d gone. ‘Look, if this was the other way round, you wouldn’t want me sharing anything with Paula, would you?’
‘Paula?’
‘DC Zabinski and I went through Tulliallan together. I’m going to be one of her bridesmaids.’
‘In that case, you’re leading here.’
‘Sarge, that’s not fair.’
‘Who said it was fair?’ Cullen opened the door. ‘After you.’
Eva marched into the crowded office space. She stopped and gazed around, then headed towards the window. A row of cacti bathed in the sunshine, one of them waving out into the room. ‘Paula.’
Zabinski sat at a laptop, hammering the keys. She looked up at her visitors. Pale blonde hair, rosy cheeks dotted with freckles. ‘Eva, how the devil are you?’ Accent purest Leith.
‘Not bad. Boss is a bit of a wanker.’ Eva winked at Cullen.
‘We’re not wearing gold dresses.’ Zabinski folded her arms. ‘That’s settled.’
‘It’s work. This is DS Cullen. We need your help. Our murder victim had coke from the same batch you’ve got James Anderson looking at.’
‘And?’
‘It would be useful to know who’s dealing this stuff.’
‘I can’t tell you.’
‘Why?’
‘Look, our investigation goes back to 2008.’ Zabinski stared at her cacti and thumbed at Cullen. ‘And he’ll blab.’
He raised his hands. ‘I’m not telling anyone, other than my superiors.’
‘Your reputation precedes you. Six years of investigation could go just like that.’ Zabinski snapped her fingers. ‘Soon as we widen this out beyond our team, we lose control. Our suspect’ll know we’re on to him.’
‘This is a murder case.’
‘I’m very pleased for you.’
‘Surely if we can nail whoever you’re after for murder, then it’ll be a good conviction.’
She folded her arms. ‘Any evidence he did it?’
Cullen smirked. ‘You need to tell us who he is first.’
Zabinski blushed. ‘With all due respect, bugger off.’
Cullen kept his focus on her. She wasn’t looking away. ‘Look, I’ve never met you before, but we really need your help.’
‘I can’t give it to you.’
‘This could be the link we need.’
‘I’m not giving up our investigation.’
‘Who’s your DI?’
‘Paul Wilkinson.’
Cullen frowned. ‘Thought he was on football hooliganism?’
‘Transferred over a couple of months back. Do you know him?’
‘He owes me.’
‘So call him.’
‘Isn’t he here?’
‘He’s at HQ today meeting the Chief.’
‘Fine.’ Cullen took out his Airwave and dialled Wilkinson’s number from memory. ‘Paul, how’s it going?’
‘Curran.’
How many more times… ‘It’s Cullen.’
‘Right, right.’ Sounded like he was driving. ‘Been meaning to call you.’
Cullen let out a groan. ‘Why?’
‘Need someone to dig into a drug ring on Schoolbook.’
Cullen sighed, watching Eva lean forward to speak to Zabinski. ‘I think Operation Venus is linked to a murder I’m working.’
‘Can’t just give information out based on you thinking something, lad.’
‘Listen, if I keep the circle tight on this, would you give us some contacts?’
‘I heard Brian Bain’s back with you lot.’
‘He is.’
‘Then it’s a fucking loose circle.’
‘Look, sir, I’ll be discreet. We’ll just have a word with whoever it is. No mention of your investigation.’
‘You think I can trust you?’
‘Have I ever let you down?’
A pause. ‘Right, speak to Paula Zabinski.’
‘I’ll put her on just now.’ Cullen handed her the Airwave. ‘DI wants a word.’
Eva smirked. ‘That was impressive.’
‘Let’s see if she gives us anything.’
‘What’s it costing you?’
‘The soul of my firstborn, I suspect.’
‘You having kids?’
Cullen shut his eyes. ‘No.’
Zabinski tossed the handset back. ‘Wants another word.’
Cullen fumbled it, catching it on the second go. ‘That us good?’
‘Let’s book out Monday morning for some Schoolbook analysis. You, me and Charlie Kidd.’
‘Get the paperwork arranged first.’
‘Already on my desk. See you on Monday, Curran.’
For crying out loud…
Cullen ended the call and perched on the edge of Zabinski’s desk. ‘So?’
‘You’re allowed into our magic circle.’ Zabinski folded her arms tight to her chest. ‘We’ve got a few street-level dealers selling this coke from some clubs and a few bars off Lothian Road.’
‘You got any names?’
‘Sure have. Eva was saying your guy’s a banker?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Sounds like a home delivery, then. We know of six kebab shops selling this stuff.’
‘Who’s doing it?’
‘New guy on the block. Dean Vardy.’
Cullen winced, his mouth dry. ‘Shite.’
Eva frowned. ‘Is that name supposed to mean something to me?’
‘Tried to put him away in January. Fucker wriggled out of it.’
Thirty-Five
Cullen shut the door to Methven’s office. ‘Did you get my voicemail, sir?’
‘Which one?’
‘Well, the one about the drug dealer.’
‘Ah, the less sweary of the two.’ Methven closed his eyes, the lids flickering. ‘Be quick, I’ve got a catch-up with Alison in ten minutes.’
‘I promised we’d be discreet about it.’
‘As I shall be.’
‘So we can’t tell DS Bain.’
Methven opened his eyes again and glared at him. ‘Get on with it.’